I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
The sun rose like a ball of fire this morning
spiraling clouds of pink, yellow and orange
In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
A piece of the sun landed on my hand,
burnt russet and gold, the color of autumn leaves
stirring my limbs and eyes damp of tears
I remember you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.
The journals are littered with pictures,
letters and notes. It smells of rosemary
and Chinese herbs. My note reads:
10th week, slow progress, nothing yet.
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
I gazed at the pictures, wishing we were boats
with the wind pushing us further into the sea.
All over Europe and Asia, I battled against the clock
to ease your pain. But it was like chasing
the hoof print of the shadow.
The night gallops on its shadowy mare
shedding blue tassels over the land.
The wind became weary of its travels and came home:
bones became stones, cells raged in fury,
like black tide, restless and relentless waves.
I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
After 10 years of waiting
death came like an old friend.
As the light slowly faded from your eyes,
I whispered the precious words
as if you never left me
And you hear me from far away