I know you are dead.
Yet here you are as large as life.
And smiling, how strange!
I can’t remember you doing
much of that, of late.
My memories of you burn bright,
Have not yet turned to sepia
But still blazon with the horror
Of your last fight.
And you are gentle,
Unafraid of the assassin
In every corner,
The rapist lurking in shadows.
At ease in this world
But not of it. A visitor.
Your journey has mellowed you, smoothed
The jagged edges, healed the scars
Of your life’s terrors.
You are strangely calm,
Bringing recollections, glimpses
Of you long buried.
I keep safe those precious treasures
Too painful to view.
One day I hope to dig them up,
But for now they rest undisturbed.
You take my hand, yours warm and soft,
Mine trembles with loss.
No last messages
No exhortations to revenge
Nor debts to settle.
You do not request requiems
Or give me blessings
You simply leave me, and a calm
Enfolds me, warms me, pacifies.
I know you were not here, my mind
Finds its own healing.