I chose the yellowed white pearls your hands crafted as a gift
your art, my memory forever entwined.
Now on the morning drive west
the pink gold sun
rising slow behind me
this gift says goodbyes to me.
Your death was from my art undone.
I am sorry.
There is more care than orders scripted or procedures done
more than the fatigue of so much hurt.
I chose the yellowed white pearls
in memory awakened to a daily becoming
not fading
burning off the haze of dawn.
To have and to hold would not last long
too messy too expectant
yet 41 promise years later,
we stand each whole and yet one.
Never really over,
the gospel of love embraced.
The time together traced in the lives of too many
but especially three
with days years or moments left to bloom.
In the cycle of death
beyond time and space
a light
boldly sings
an essence of forever being
and my soul remembers why I am.
She did not match the data presented
in hospital speak to a crowd of learners.
It was not so much a lie
as it was a revealing – a tale.
The well and the ill are stories
told from all sides of a hospital bed
in space and time
not captured in code and computer screens.
So let the record so reflect
the hurt and the heart of
hands reaching
and healing
beyond the numbering of days.
Dreams and hopes light the path for tomorrow,
not rushing what can be done to win every now.
Time is never managed
but lived in random synchrony within a moment’s notice.
Let Light
and Breath
and Love
find my soul ready.
Can you read without listening to the words?
Can you see without hearing thoughts?
Ignorance protects.
Love opens.
Time to bow to the listening side of our hearts.
