Never a cross word in all those years?
That isn’t true.
Still, we could read each other’s clues.
You knew the difference between down and cross
and when the letters in your head got mixed
I’d sometimes help you make coherent words.
Seeing you sat in cryptic quietness,
pen twitching in your hand,
I traced your posture with my brush
while you filled in the blanks
to hold back the black spaces.
The pen is idle now, those hard won words
locked up inside it.
Can I resolve the silent cipher
Of an empty chair?
I haven’t got a clue.