How many clovers pop up overnight
after a light rain, how many of them
can magically pop from the ground?
So pretty, so frilly as if crocheted
and for the first time since he died,
I don't feel like crying.
Minutes ago, while dressing I hear his voice
from inside the closet. El, it's ok.
I know it is illusion but I also know it's not.
Once I stood at the bed where he had not moved
in two days though his chest had been rising and falling
like someone who might open his eyes at any moment.
Just as these fallen leaves can take flight in the wind.
I can hear his voice in the closet one more time,
(though I myself had seen him cold as concrete
and remember the room smelling of blown-out candle)
so why now this voice and why from a closet?
It may just be my own voice,
my own self whispering to me,
but because of it I can walk in the woods again
with only rain on my lips, with a joyous feel
of a soul nearby ready for flight.
That's the image I love
and I let it cling to me.