Under the vault of memory, where silences are dressed in echoes

Under the vault of memory, where silences are dressed in echoes, I beg you, let your memory dance among us, unbounded. When I open your book, a collection of fragments, My hand navigates through pages, and time dilates Until an insignificant moment bends me, And I find myself embraced by a fleeting vision, A spark of longing decades old, in a shadowed room. "Who shall deliver me from this body of death?", I ask, while you float above your own existence, With words that breathe life into everything they touch. You adored releasing the absurd, wrapping it in phrases, Like when you placed the star wars In "the Marseille of the galaxy" within us. Diminishing, in your letters from the twilight days, "Simplify," you wrote, "seems to be the way Through the uncertainties of my health," Showing us how to arrange the house of our soul In preparation for the last journey. Why can't you find rest? You have become so much a part of me, That every cell of yours is now woven into the tapestry of my life, Spilling into our descendants, into the reality of my second half. You could live with us, an invisible, cherished presence, You would have passed the age threshold, with your own pains, Smiling at the absurdities of our common decline. Is it worth much, this diligent revival Of the body's story? Why do I immerse In describing the passions of youth, the midlife hardships, The old age's need to touch The dark witnesses of history? Is forgetfulness the price of peace? In my late dreams, we are together again, Wrapped in the house whose roof watches over our rooms, A bright sanctuary, open, a sacred refuge. The walls and roof, timeless, keep time at bay, Serving as a screen for our love, An illusion of words where we hoped to keep the greedy world away. In this poem of existence, where love and memory intertwine, We transform every moment into a verse of the cosmic song, A divine fire burning quietly, lighting the paths to self, In a harmony that transcends the confines of time, An ode of the heart that sings ceaselessly about the love that elevates us To the highest octaves of being.