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Poem

We found ourselves in the caverns of the nave, one day 
sheltering from the sun, a time to recede into holy shadow 
and bask in baked walls, their white, homely dust 
settling about our footprints.
In fatigue, my Diane sits heavy on the pew with head bowed 
from heat or in prayer? I stand and take her in, 
the touch of buttercup in calm endurance of years and years
she seeks some answer at her feet.
It felt to me that moments in our days together 
should not be left in dust, such as those in this cavern
so, to frame our memories I committed her to lens 
and captured her,
the sweet intimacy she shares 
with both nave and husband, my sweet Diane.
And yet, it appears, this moment shares a life, absent from us.
As we gathered in the still of the evening, home again
to recollect and add the moment to the collection 
sitting on our shelf of memories 
we gazed upon the picture of Diane, in her stillness, reposed
and alone, we thought
yet there she sat, in the white glow of some unearthly light 
our very own ghostly companion, she sat with Diane to reflect
upon some moments of her own long past, and we like to think 
that in her long expressions in the cavernous nave, 
sat on the pew in dreams, in white 
my own Diane will grace her thoughts and be part of 
her tapestry.

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