I thought I heard you last night
coming up the stairs;
your reassuring tread.
Dreamt I held you
in the rucks and pleats of bedsheets
you always pulled to your side.
I thought I saw you
in the faces of your children,
the quirks and ticks you’ve passed down.
I could pick out your face in a crowd of hundreds
Hear your voice in the racket of the market
Now life has become a double-take,
chasing the echoes of your ghost.
But last night by the open fire
I saw you in a different light:
Reading your thoughts in the smoke
hearing your voice in the chimney
Seeing your eyes in the wood knots
Keeping me warm through the winter.