Someone I loved has gone away
taking half my existence.
Her imprints remain all over my heart.
Tiny museums of personal randomness
are all that's left.

Her chiseled beauty was made of
silky clouds, stardust, moonlight
and sonatas powered by the sun.
Memories of her rise up like
a sweet grape arbor.

I wear the perfume of her life
like a welcoming embrace.
Flowers wither, but her
perfume lasts forever.
I'm blossoming in the glow
of my mother's aura.

Death is no enemy, but rather the
foundation of gratitude, sympathy,
and art of all life's pleasures.
Only love owes no debt to death.
My mother's love will linger long after
the wind has erased her footprints
from the universe.