If you read this then

you barely may r​emember me:

a whisper; two notes from the span

of my voice -- perhaps a shadow picture

of the way I cuddled in your beds

at night reading the last lines

of your evening books, confused with

images from photographs.

I wished you life: a long one

if it please, with all the healed-up

losses and accomplishments

of silent existential faith.

I hope that part of what remains

when pain assaults your knees

or disappointments in career or love

or choices that your children make arise

is that warm aura when the moon came up

and silvered your smooth bodies

and the lovely outlines of your

thick-lashed sleeping heads.

The Raven's Perch, 28 July 2022