Grace

The essence of you, still
lingers in this room, like
the smell of incense, long
after its ashes are cold...

your eyes look up at me
and I kiss them
with my mind and with
my fingertips...

but their amber glow
still warms my soul, long
after I close the album –
put it back on the shelf.

I hear your laugh – see
your smile – the piano
lid is down but still
I hear you play...

your hands and heart
in perfect unison
and harmony. You were
grace, itself...

and remember that night –
you were playing Mozart,
and then you stopped...
and we listened, instead,
to the quiet rain?

When it eased, we went
and sat in the hammock,
in the garden – worse
for wear, now...a bit like me.

And a bit like me,
the two tulip trees
it's strung between, shed
a silent tear...that they’ll
never again, get to hold you.