Those we lose become stories we know

I didn’t want any part of you to fade

Like old stories not written down

So I went to the sacred tree in the centre of your garden

Where some folk think I might find you

I don’t know if you were there but it was nice to be in your world with those who knew you

Those who only came because the tree told me to go

As we talked we became the keepers of your story

and I relaxed a bit as I realised

I wasn’t a keeper on my own

details will fade. You won’t.