The day we were told that she would pass.
Fear, guilt, deadness, torment, in his eyes
Their advice for help came too late

In silence I cried out to Being.
An anxious, feverish, yet inaudible
pleading.

They said death has been conquered
Confident of peace in passing, I
could yet not convey!

My essence reaches to clasp his own
What use, though? Kisses, loving arms
Wrapped round like scarves on exposed necks

Words become tattered and flavourless.

Trust in the essence of now. Let go
Embrace my own stillness
Clasp in emptiness for his own, wait

For the blue-green storms of grief to be at peace.