Picture of Him

When I look I can’t find
The man lost within
It’s like he’s been reduced,
to a picture of him

When we talk I can’t really
make out what he says
Like they left out the plug
And he’s all drained away

A beam held aloft
Seeming strong, looking firm
Inside full of holes
Carved out by woodworm

Like honeycomb cells
Left empty, alone
Too few worker bees
An archive nearly gone

Now he is a collection
of places he’s been,
of things that he’s done
and people he’s seen

But not kept with him
The collection’s with us
We’re the curators
Held memories in trust

If there’s anything left
It’s inside you and me
When we’re with him
It makes him complete

He’s here as we share
Our memories within
It keeps him alive
Our picture of him.