I miss us most:
young, and wasting time.
The hill to our house
had a steep degree.
All the weathers I know
we’ve walked it in; up to the gate;
rattled through, across the green fire
of hedging, grass,
the playful trees.
Sat speaking on summer walls;
read together in pollened air; watched
turn lemon in the sun
and orange under an evening moon.
The world ended a year or two ago.
Did you feel it?
And now the universe appears
like one of those ships abandoned
inexplicably at sea.
Her berths indented
with the signs of sleeping heads.
Her libraries a still necropolis
of books that someone read.
B. T. Joy is a British poet and short fiction writer living in Glasgow. He has also lived in London, Aberdeen and Heilongjiang, Northern China. His poetry and short fiction have appeared in magazines, journals, anthologies and podcasts worldwide, including poetry in Yuan Yang, The Meadow, Toasted Cheese Literary Journal, Numinous: Spiritual Poetry, Presence, paper wasp, bottle rockets, Mu, Frogpond and The Newtowner, among many others. His debut collection of poetry, Teaching Neruda, was released in 2015 by Popcorn Press and his 2016 collection Body of Poetry is also available through Amazon. He can be reached through his website: http://btj0005uk.wix.com/btjoypoet.