I will show you the photographs
But they can only give you a false impression.
Pre-digital cameras were not able to reveal
The delicate patterns flicked over her flawless skin
When winter sunlight filtered through high windows
And woke us from deep sleep.
The small hints of a mood change in her thoughtful eyes
Could perhaps be replicated by an artist
On canvas or on paper,
But the cameras that we used in the nineteen sixties
Were far too clumsy, the shutters far too slow
To register such delicate shifts in mood,
The sudden laughter and smiles - followed by a kiss.
Therefore these photographs can only hint at
The love that was so private, so much of who we were
In those two short years that we spent together -
Before she died of cancer - aged just twenty eight.
But I still recall the tenderness of her fingers
Stroking my face and fidgeting my hair
When I bent forward to kiss her on the shoulder
With that shy tenderness only young folk show.
And sometimes I can almost touch her in the dark
As though she were alive in the room beside me
In the quiet moments before I fall asleep. -
That is only wishful thinking, I try to tell myself,
But sometimes her voice seems closer than my heartbeats.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
February 21st. - 22nd. 2019. - October 19th. 2021.
Although we knew each other for nine years, it was only during the last two or three years of her life that we drew close together.
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