"Poetry and hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. All you can do is go where they can find you" – A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
How gently their hands, and how gently their heads
so unfull of life, so aged in ashes
clutch at one another.
Their love cannot unbe now. It cannot not have been fed into a hungry earth.
Scorch marked and blackened are the cages left.
laid together upon a matressing earth,
cushed by ground that swaddles hopelessness
the Pompeii lovers, now lie like chopsticks, bone on bone.