I'll write a poem every day, might be tiny but it'll be complete.
Rain marching up the valley
rapid striding pillars
and this a mild precursor
to a bigger downpour on its way
the news barely dampens me at first
that she's gone, my old friend
suddenly blown off her feet
we knew she'd be in for a rough ride
worse weather on the way
a couple of years ago
exchanged some hearts
and likes and on 22 May
Day 1 of this project
I messaged her: Dear Go,
will you be home 5/6 August?
I really want to see you. Love Vxxx
She wrote back right away: I'll
make sure I am, it's in
the planner now so I'll be here Xx
– in Dutch, her language
through and through. I looked forward
to her chuckle, her menagerie,
the drenched tropical swirls
and sexy curves of her paintings.
Too late I realise I'm soaked
without thinking I've stood still
all these 30 days
while someone precious washed away
but at least I'll be there that weekend
and so will she: grounded, as ever.