Three gifts to give, one last to bestow. Chilled lillies and a glowing stone to call her own. Now as night nears, and the day draws darker, with tears I mark the corners of her marker. In Threes, I hope that she heard, all three words. The bright of sodium vapor, capers through the birches' arms, softened by subtle, silver charms.
Limbs lithe in light grant a nimbus that strains onto the roses that remain.
A slowed glow of halos, orange, pink and white, pool in puddles of double delight, clusters of lustre leak into the muffling night. The night mutes and soothes, it envelopes and cloaks, the tears caught in my eyes, the words in my throat. Her voice was the sun to her son. I walked, I grew in loving, living light. Softly scarred beneath the stars, now I walk her garden at night.