On the night my mother died,

El Niño drifting like a mist above

Our street with fine silk light billowing

Out, beckoning to the winter

Darkness. One moment there was

Nothing, only dry aspen leaves

Quivering and thin clouds

Floating like tears over the sky. In the next,

My mother was looking at me for the last

Time—her eyes as gray blue 

As rain. Her breath coming in little

Gasps fluttered among the leaves of the euonymus bush.

Then the soft face of El Niño called 

Her, and she turned to follow Him leaving us behind

Like pebbles in the moonlight.

When she was gone, I looked for her.

I continually look for her. This was her last act of love.