There we sit in our partial darkness
her in her soft and easy chair
me in mine so I can see her face
and the smile or frown residing there
for these brief moments of grace
her reading from our spiritual book
me listening, waiting for angels to arrive
in a story or words that’ll become a sacred hook
into my soul or life’s burgeoning archive.

Evening after evening sometimes so tired
we can barely hold on and avoid sleeping
right there, each old body in its easy chair
sometimes laughing sometimes weeping
she my wife, partner in this long life
both of us gathering our souls
in this splendid crucible of light.

There I stood,
Or wait was I sitting?
It doesn’t matter details aren’t important.

She said she wanted to be my friend,
Or wait was it that we were no longer lovers?
I don’t remember details aren’t important.

I said I knew what you did,
Or did she tell me?
Wait, I think she told me, but I didn’t care about the details.

I was looking for something more,
Or wait, did we turn into something less?
It didn’t matter it was a small detail.

I looked for God when there was no one else,
Or were the eyes I saw in the clouds just imaginary.
It doesn’t matter, the devil was in the details and I ate too much of his lettuce.

I wish I could peel back the years
To when you were alive.
I wish I could spend
A few quality moments
Just talking to you
One last time again.
I’m guess I’m more of a hugger these days,
Less self-conscious now I’m older,
And I’d like to hug you now
Man to man, friend to friend,
Although I’m certain you would pull away
Embarrassed for sure.
But, if nothing else,
I’d like to deal you
A royal hand of cards,
Be beaten hands down by you
At your favourite game of poker
One last time again.

it always hits me
unexpectedly
always a
w a v e
that washes over me
and i let myself
peek inside
your box
in my
mind.
a light
   [a sound]
and i close my eyes and smile
and the tears come
and i have to feel it
because it is all i can do.
and i don't want
to forget.
so i let you
   e
     b
       b
    and f l o w
and i cry and i smile.
and then
try
to close the box
once again.
(but not too tight.)

Graceful is the way death floats down to earth
Like a feather, a bird
Placing its hand upon a young person's shoulder
It tugs on their clothes as a child would
And the young person kneels down
Grabs death's small arms with a smile
And they walk, hand in hand
To where? I don't know.

Happy are so many memories...
But better still is the instance from which they are born.