Pain gathered in his chest,
a sense of being marooned,
so thick, it clotted,
choked his breathing.
His wife, lying
in some unmarked grave,
he wished he was invisible,
had evaporated into green-silk,
and misty air.
Sun set in sharp autumn chill,
black shadows, quavered,
her image
on a rippling sea.
© Amy Barry
Man charged over Jill Meagher case
Amy Barry has worked in the media industry as a Public Relations officer. Her poems have been published in Ireland and abroad. She lives in Athlone, Ireland.
