Susan, Number Four

This is my last poem for you, my friend.
We were going to go to the ocean but there wasn’t time,
And here I am
walking the trail that follows the cliffs above the beach.
The wind scuds the little clouds
the waves below push and roll
I feel your lightbody, you take my hand
Our fingers interlace
We turn and kiss.
The wind tangles our hair together.
Your hair is long and black again
The wind lifts your black hair like wings
the hawk’s black wings
and there you go!
On your black hawk wings, flying away.
And I am here, following you with my gaze.

Your eyes were rimmed in smoky orbits, bottomless.
Deep as the eye of a folded rose.
I said, There is no end in this circle
You didn’t believe me, and I don’t care.
You will arise, arise!
You will open like the last sunflower.

I am still listening to the zen in the last thing you told me:
There’s nothing to say, you said.
Right, nothing.
Only the vast, sublime glory of One!
and your incandescent singularity —
Our uniqueness!
So fragile and so precious.