-- To my Boddhisattva whose name is light
Her finger, tracing my cheek
Her eyes, my last sight
as night enfolds me
Her smile welcoming
both the sun and I
Her shiver, as I trace
her spine beneath the quilt
Her laugh, heartfelt, at a joke
best left untold
Her joy at hearing
what was said
and what was not
He words, bringing
laughter and tears
by turns, but which
no one wishes to forget
Her lips, their whisper
that I carry from the house
and through my day
Eight years
the impossible has been real
the undeserved offered in abundance
the unattainable in hand
That which goes unsaid
but is always on the tongue
and within the heart.
