evening grows cold

he sits inside

watching the birds

in the kōwhai

where he hung some fat
he remembers walking streamside with her

after they finished the first phase of planting

how it would look in a dozen years

(which is long ago)
he touches her blanket

which he keeps beside him –

how easy it was

to sit with her

of an evening
he gets up

plays a chord

puts the guitar back

on its stand

plucks a note

listens

till it fades into the window
he looks out

thinks he sees her shape

her statue
he makes a cup of tea

last one for the day

lights a candle

incense

and gazes

at the falling ash