On the day that Rosalind died

my sisters and I

stood in straight alignment 

like 3 celestial bodies in syzygy 

My brother-in-law

Brian

and I

carried the void she left in our lives

on our shoulders 

to my airing cupboard 

where we hid it

in the snicket 

between the bath towels

and the torn curtains

we do not have the heart

to throw away

I felt blurred / slanted

so he took me by the hand

and led me to the garden 

where dreams reside

in a state of temporal viscosity

We fell on to our hands and knees

in the apricity of the winter sun

searching for answers

hidden like newly laid robin’s eggs

in the snow

until our fingers and toes were red raw

and the clouds in the savage geometric prism 

through which I see the world

had begun to clear