This Is The Room (Poetry)

This is the room I was sitting in
when they told me she had died
the air so very much the same
hung close with tears long-cried
silence curled like a cat asleep
words caught in the throat’s dark web
and thought pacing corner to corner still
through the echoing space in my head

Cold as old stones in the river’s bed
while driftwood floats carelessly past
memories sink almost shyly and wish
that love and youth’s vigour would last
the room’s barely changed its dolorous mood
a grey rug aching soft wall to wall
where grief has worn itself thin —
                                thought by thought
with regrets I’m now loathe to recall