by Andrew Senior

A lifeline running 
South to north to south	
Stops
Him, he is held 
In cell
Still possessed
Of what he took
Utterly abandoned
By all she never lost

Him, he sleeps 
Our waking does not end
Third of March 
Breathing 
Night and day
Her sweet face
The never-ending replay 
In ashes vigil held
How long

This failing triumph? 
How long the wrestle?
Waiting and waiting 
To say goodbye
How long until
We know
An eye for an eye?
Take this voice
Our tidal grief 

How long until
We know this no more?

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Andrew Senior is a writer of poetry and short literary and speculative fiction, based in Sheffield, UK. His work has been published in various places, including Ekstasis, Fathom and Story Warren.