Every last stolen
whisper reminds me
how death waits like
a light switch in all
of us, and I am not
ready to die. A silent
plea forms on my
lips and those I have
loved and lost reappear.
A cage of prayers sways
in the air. Echoes reach
out to me through the
years, voices like a full
moon in a rearview
mirror. A thin cloth
divides me from heaven,
and no one is here. A
cold wind numbs my
skin and I long for a
friend's touch. I weigh
my life against the
evening sky, a silk
handkerchief, and there
is no secret password
to life, no fleur-de-lis.
Wrapped in what little
warmth I have, I am
this space my body
believes in.
Lovely poem and how true!
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