You were loved by many women, smitten by your teasing eyes, and tender ways with blooming flowers. Florence held you like a son. If she were here, she'd be on knees beside your grave. Reminding you to see a doctor for your heart the way you bent and kissed her hand. I'm thinking now as silence looms.
Presence is a fragile thing wind removes at brittle whim.
No cashmere tears will calm the wool of losing you. I pull my husband close to me. Run my fingers on his chest like syllables in sentences I'll save before they vaporize. I'll kiss his lips of lavender, rub his forehead with my thumbs, cherish seasons as they are before the blindness intervenes. Copper pennies of the sunlight adding up to dollar bills.