You, undeniably,
were a poet.

I, without doubt,
was your canvas.

With your kisses
as your pen,
you marked me
with a song

A heart can only
flutter to.

With a feather
you traced words
of wonder
on my soul.

Truly,
words of wonder.

I lie awake,
Vulnerable,
Listening to the snores in the other room
And the slow rhythmic beat of my heart;

I've lost count
Of how many times
I was victim
Of sleepless nights.

I can't understand
Just why this happens.
No thought thundering in my head,
No shattered pieces of my heart to be picked up.

I slowly breathe
As I admire the sight of
My chest
In its rise and fall.

I lie naked in my bed
Tossing and turning until sleep answers my call.

I see you there
suspended for a time
between the shadow
and the light.

You look pale
but peaceful,
in a dream state.

I rest awhile,
a shallow sleep,

then I awake

knowing…

without words
my mind whispers

it’s time

I gently wipe your lips,
brush a stray hair
from your forehead.
It’s all I know to do.

Then I sing
a cherished lullaby
hoping you hear me
hoping it wraps you in love
as my arms wrapped
around you
as a child.

I hold your hand,
kiss your forehead.
In that instant I see
and feel all you’ve been
all that is you

tiny wrinkled infant
delightful, smiling six-month old
curious toddler
proud school age
struggling teen
loving adult

realizing
we're losing all of these,
all that you've been
all that is you

then

I feel your spirit leave…

for that brief moment
I’m overcome with a calm
I can’t describe.

A gift rare and precious –

as I was there
when you entered the world
I was with you
when you left.
     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        

"The butterfly counts not months but moments and has time enough."  
Rabinadrath Tagore