First you changed the leucocytes inside your house.
When angels returned to sing triumphantly of your life
All they encountered was the vascular systems of perfumes;
Such was the serotinous cluster of petals,
That watched your past encompass mine.
You suddenly cried to see a drop of water, the voice
of eternal storms, looking at broken things.
Don't cry, come, and I'll hold you and listen to a guitar,
As your fingers move around my back like ants.
You gave flowers that tasseled up spiritual forests,
to see the growing shadow near my head.
To open the ocean and net the lost canoes.
The day you were in tears at the pathway obscured
by blue moths sleeping on your cheeks,
revere the yellow house that has sad windows.
From 100 Love Poems (Earl of Seacliff, 2005)
© John Pule