If I Could

If I could reach
into the past
and pluck a petal
from that ghostly flower
I’d pull you back
and tell you that I loved you.

In your dying hours
I saw that you tried
to do the things you loved
in life, but you were so tired.

Death hung around your neck
and pulled your head down
so that all you could do
was stare into the dim morning—
dimmer now,
grayer now.
You crawled into the bitter end
with all the life left to you.

I pluck you from the past, dear one
and make you whole again.

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