The constant relief I feel,
With each breath I inhale,
Is like the comfort I have
When I hear your voice.

Out you pour like sand
Going through the pinched glass
That narrows before the escape.
Woman that I loved
Who traced and marveled
At the many lines that divided the world.
Can you trace new lines
To where you are going?
Can you draw a border
Around your lovely soul?
Chef of scorched pancakes
(The only way I like them),
Christmas fudge,
And summer sandwiches,
You filled me with sweets
That reflected your sweet soul.
Drawer, painter, beauty maker,
Your hands crafted
Many wonderful things.
Your hands.
Your crooked hands.
Bent, pointed, strong.
Can those hands now
Grasp these last edges?
And can you remember
Me now?
Can those eyes trace the lines
Of my face and see me?
Can you know me
And recognize
How much I have loved you?

There seemed hardly enough wind.
But you made that tiny silver kite dance about our heads
So lively that I thought surely it wasn't a kite.
Surely it must be alive and only pretending.

Goddess of the Dawn,
Rise from the East
To bring peace
When winter has gone.

These thin walls tell me
more than she ever would