This is a declaration of love
on August the 6th, our anniversary.
Here is your essence: the pathos of ink
pristine on domesday parchment makes you cry –
“Ah, bless them!” you say – not only the sad,
the halt but the deluded and the unmasked.
Wisely, you leave me few pretensions.
On Hiroshima Day, I celebrate
our forty four years with ephemera:
images of figures in landscapes;
walking an ancient copse full of wild
garlic and forget-me-nots, heaven’s colours –
and saying, “I love you”.