One day and seven months ago
your blessed death took you into your
blessed spirit, rekindled your
Blessed Wisdom and shuttered my heart
against another fur-person coming to stay.
By calendar it was barely summer
that twenty-eighth day of June,
though hot as blazes, and here it is
January’s end with yet another sixty-degree
day in a winter peppered with spring.
Your grave – just beyond the porch and
underneath the paper-bark birches – is guarded
by the little concrete fox you’d sit next to,
festooned now by a Salter Path whirly-gig rainbow
made to reach and catch the wind.
I’ve needed the color; needed, too,
the reminder of movement that Wind,
that life-long friend, always brings
Sophie? – It is like a second death to me
that I can no longer recall your eyes.
Losing again the light that was in them
(and only because of my old, useless memory)
makes my head bow down in sorrow
as familiar tears fall, this time
for a new and unfamiliar loss.
Without your eyes in my inner vision
it’s as if I’ve lost my own sight, or lost
at least the long view I need now
to soften the blow.
And so what remains?
What ever remains when loss
(and loss again) falls like snow,
falls thick and fast to pile
flake upon gathering flake
against and across a once-boundless heart?
Waiting for an answer
all I hear is a muffled beating
atop a silent yearning for just one more
blessed look into golden eyes,
just one more blessed lie-down
with you stretched across my chest,
matching me breath for breath in love.
© Amy Pierce and In Spiritual Wonder, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Amy Pierce and In Spiritual Wonder with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.