THE COUNTING OF STEPS

She borrowed her dreams

From yesterday,

Never forgetting the woman

Who danced without a partner

To the music within,

The melody only she could hear.

Now the decades have led her

To the tap-tapping

Of her cane on the sidewalk,

The counting of steps

When she crosses the street,

Her blindness guiding

Her day, leading her to

The dreamworld of sight.

VISITORS

It was decades ago

When the red fox wove

Between the gravestones

In Wildwood Cemetery

As we stood in the silence

Of sunlight before your

Mother’s name cut into stone.

The fox paused, lifted its

Left foreleg and stared—

You said it was a sign.

Far from that cemetery,

In a town beyond

The mountains, we live

In the ripeness of old age

As death breathes

Inside us, around us.

We visit our garden each day,

Touch the strong petals

Of a crimson lily,

Never wanting to let go.