What I would give

for one more day, of you

napping in the afternoon

on a sweltering summer day, of you

finding a blue jay feather

while I cut the grass, of you

sitting in the shade, clipping

forsythia into short pieces

behind you, your rock garden

and sundial, overgrown,

tunneled with tiny red ants

your yellow blooming perennials dead

I can no longer kiss you

goodnight, good morning, or goodbye

for the day

nor point to clouds crossing the sun,

bringing blessed rain,

or hold your old hand when

thunderclaps frighten you.

Brevity Quest 2016 93