You sojourned with us on the kissing hill, cloudy eyes.
dotted with dancing dandelions,
to summers sprung and unsprung,
will outlive us all.
Maybe you saw honey wings flutter about us like a tempest.
were we all a mist for you?
were we suns, fog-veiled,
from which outstretched hands,
in divine and happy happenstance,
bore bowls of bread and rice,
or plates of milk and oil–
burnt morsels of animal sacrifice?
what can we make of your passing,
out of the mold of your rooting clay?
Hold your heart-memory up like a prayer,
and shower the little souls that remain
with our tears of love remembered.
Your mother tearfully listens
to the silence of your hobbled little soul
waiting dutifully by the door.
How she wishes you could live forever.
Goodbye, dear one.