I sat with you through your last days
the periods of quiet sleep
along with lucid dreams
and furtive glances around the room
trying to see someone who wasn’t there
or at least no one I could see
but somewhere in the vigil
the curtain ripped
and I saw who you were pointing to
my own dreams bordering on the edge
while we talked of so many things
in the quiet of the night, then a last breath
and you were gone, except our link was never broken
I still smell your scent and feel your touch
you wander through my dreams a familiar
sight, I can hear the sound of angel’s wings
feel the flutter of their power
to lift me up when I fall
or to get things just out of reach
but most of all I feel your love
a quiet presence available
to me throughout the day or night
because while I sat at your bedside
the curtain tore and I never mended it.
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