Remembering You

You changed the story of my life
and others
and left the world
on your own terms

Dust moats dissolve into light splintered rays
of the beauty of nothing
and you are gone
but yet
still here

What did you see when you pulled back the veil?
What lay behind your faint smile
that seemed to say
there is an end to suffering
but not pain

The 911 operator told me to try CPR
so I pressed my hands against your chest

Blood come from your mouth
I think I cracked your rib.
Your heart was silent.

Then. The ambulance arrived.
You were silent.
And I fell apart.

They pulled you from where I had tried
to a final place
below a picture
of Mother Teresa
on hardwood floor
at the top of the stairs
And I came undone
until nothing was left
and I sat upon
a chair
reading
Thomas A Kempis
The Imitation of Christ —

God wants his work
to have its effects.

And he reminds.
That nothing is sweeter than love.
Nothing higher.
Nothing stronger.
Nothing larger.
Nothing fuller.
Nothing better in Heaven and Earth

For love descends from God and may not rest finally
in anything lower

Here.
The kids found a place for you.
And now.
Your ashes wend their way
to the Ocean

I go there somedays.
Just to visit. And talk.
Faithful lover.

You are.
You were.
And I still wish to become
a better husband.

The city remembered you.
They set down upon black and gold metal
that you were gone too soon
and imprinted the symbol Om
upon a sign
they left
at the base of an old rugged cross
in the garden
where once
we worked together
in the sun.

I love you.