Nobody knows,

Nobody knows,

He sees the place

Not out in the world

For it is far away

But deep within

He has held it there

A sacred heart

A sustainable marker

It lies quiet under the tree

As he dusts dirt

From the memory

The sun always shines

Through the overhang

Brightening the words

If there were tears

They would stain the wood

But the image is dry

Surrounded by fallen leaves

The silver birch

Must have grown

Twice its size

Since last he stood

Before it

More lie buried now

Where once she lay alone

There is a small community

Of epitaphs

Waiting to be read

Are they loved more

With every passing day

Whatever happens

To the process of grieving

When it leaves the page

Of a journal

It is not a thesis

Every day is a battle

For survival

Nobody knows

The trouble he sees

For he has grown skilled

At hiding the reveal

Though in truth

It wears him thin

In the remembering

And sometimes he forgets

Which side of the veil

He is protecting.