The Water

The morning they said
they’d found a body
I began to pray
inwardly moan God
don’t let it be her
let this not be a rebirth
of grief. Most nights, when not too tired,
I do complete my entreaty into
the Great Silence
but that morning
the letter went unstamped
a few words short of an amen.
I remembered, realised, apologised
almost, to the Most High
for this my latest sinning –
filtering souls into strata,
thinking it does make a difference
whose life-loss they speak of
on the radio. Forgetting
that as far as love knows
it is all the same; that if it wasn’t her
it was still someone else;
that either way
somebody was left
in the water

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