she's there
in the full moon
& the beat of the rhythm
she's there
in the way the music works
like she played those notes
she's there
in the lyrics & how
the words rhyme
she's there
around my head with the sounds
that make a melody
there she is
dancing in death &
still present
a gift you unwrap
passing the parcel
underneath layers
she's there
in the core of a package
& I miss her
& I keep on missing her
but she's there
in everything I do
she tells me
what to do and what to say
as I play
records we liked together
then it's time
to turn off the radio
that she listened to
between the pain from the bones
& the liver ache
they zapped & they radiated
until none of that worked
but she stayed
until that never happened
& nurses attended
in a room with a view
of a sandstone wall
where men sold their stuff
all those years ago
planting seeds that corroded
every part of her
while she crocheted
her way out of some
kind of abyss
that I can't help but miss
then she spoke of
smoking with that lady
who knew me better
than any other woman,
on a night in August
with the moon full
I feel you
wandering through my own
meanderings
that I can't understand
you
keep asking questions
without answers
so I type & I rewrite
the story of you
a woman of substance
who makes me shed
tears
for what might have been
but never was
then that final breath