The Return

Thick walls of mist closed in on her then parted,
swept her towards a clearer darkness. At its centre,
the echo-voice whispered, the burnished finger pointed:
"Go there — then there — someone is waiting to take you back.'
She waded through leaden tides until she saw him.
The fall of his cloak told her a living man moved
inside it and, following upwards, she sensed, even before
that faint far light, the grieving presence of her husband.
Her own form wrapped in greyness, she struggled to assume
the weight of flesh once more, longed for his eyes
to turn and warm her into life. But when he turned
he peered with a stranger's eyes, saw only shadow.
She fell back, fell away. He was left with a second loss.