Day's End

The summer heat has cooled a little now.

I sit out in my usual spot in the garden.

Over there behind the French windows

is where you used to lie, those last months

when you were mostly bed-ridden. The curtains,

closed, allow me to imagine you are still there,

that the thread of awareness and connection

still runs between us — invisible, unbreakable,

palpable. But of course it's not so. You are gone,

you are more insubstantial than air. I, here, enjoy

for myself the sunny garden, the stillness, the sweet

air. The light falls down through the trees, as if

in benediction ... then gradually grows colder.

One white flower adorns the top of the vine.

They bloom and drop repeatedly, those blossoms.

Submitted for dVerse OpenLinkNight #83