I Still Feel You

I still feel you in the summer meadows we walked and in thoughts that shape prayers without words. I watched you staggering, panting, exulting. You shone like a cartwheel of light in my soul. And, oh, your tired bones beneath that illusion, your shape still glowing. First I ignored your now-body ranked with blood and fear. Blindfolded, I passed you by… then turned back. Underneath a blank voiceless sky I felt your heart tremble, felt its old persistent music. Beyond logic, beyond hope. Twitching feet stilled to the sound of my voice, your face fell against my shoulder. A smile lightning you up… And once again I knew you. And you died. It was a day without pain, though I knew pain would follow, like an old dog that will never leave. But it did not matter. That was the day I decided to be happy, thinking that happiness may be the only thing you wanted from me, the only gift I can still give you. How else could you have seen the dragonfly dancing over the garden pond, the flash of iridescent blue beneath its wings, quick as a breath, how else could you see it dart, then hesitate above the green water, as if it gave pleasure deliberately? How could you perceive the sunset falling between tall trees, that old stillness, then the vermilion leaves startling in a call of delight, how could you receive that golden moment when a skein of geese across the sky disappeared into the light, except through me?