There Is No Gone

This full breath of November 

has me remembering –  rainfall so loud

it carries me back, lands me hard

inside that morning when windshield wipers 

couldn't keep up.  When engine and wheels couldn't 

get us there fast enough – before – oh my God how it rained - 

she died.

Mourning Dove wakes me

telling her own kind of story.  Her song saying 

what words can never say

her call giving voice to the heavy, this heavy tug

of remembering

Brown eyes.  The way she never stopped giving.  How fucking hard it rained.

It may not seem like much 

but I know what I must do 

I know

I must dip fingers into paint

fill white canvas with what seems to be gone

fingers dipping in and out – heart satiated

with deep breath 

of color

What could matter more than this?

Eyes close. Breath slows. Softly – I come back

to here.  And I stay until 

some unnamable beloved

curls in close. I stay

until I know what the Dove knows
until I'm drenched and dripping with the truth of it -

there is no gone.

*               *              *

For my sister-in-law whose body left us a year ago but who, I know, is always right here. Thank you, precious Amy, for showing me the true power of giving - the true gift of breathing - and for showing me that there is only ever this one now moment.  I love you so.