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