You are carved upon the lines, carved upon the seat, carved upon the branches
and the roots and the shoots of the tree that stand before it,
carved upon the life, carved upon the heart, carved upon the tears
and the tissue and the memory of the mind that holds it,
your scent is still within the garden, still upon the chair,
is wrapped around the branches and the bushes and the buildings
that stand around it, your scent is sealed upon the body,
teases still the tongue, smelt still on the hands,
beneath the nose and on the skin that used to touch you,
there are knots within this wood, on this bench, on this tree,
on these buildings, along that body that can never be undone.
There are shadows in this garden, on this seat, beneath the branches,
in the sunlight, shadows in the sunlight, on that body that can never be erased.
There is an echo of what was, resounding in this garden, in this seat, in this tree, in this heart.
All words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly