Late last night, just as I blew out the last candle
and pulled the cool sheet to my chest,
I caught a whiff of your gentle fragrance
floating just above the empty pillow beside me,
and I heard you call my name in the sounds of
the stream that curls its way through the tall pines.
Sleep never had a chance.  Memories burst into the room
from all the familiar places and moments we used to share.
I heard you hum that sill song about little gray clouds.
I'm sure I saw your reflection in the starlight on the window pane.
An owl called in the distance and I thought of your
beautiful, astonished face when you first caught a glimpse
of the elegant night visitor.
As the memories floated by, gifts of grace,
I felt a tear slide down my cheek and fall to my lip.
It tasted just like the ones I used to kiss from your face
when you wept in deep sorrow or delicious joy.
O memories, have mercy.
I am not able to bear your full weight.
The wound is yet too raw.
The hour too soon.
Pass me by for now.
At least for
now.