An ode.

I cannot feel his loneliness anymore,
and I know he is gone.
I sometimes see the shadow, a hint
of his long graceful hands
reflected in my own.
His fingers slender and nails well trimmed,
mine still unsure, and nails bitten to the quick.

I cannot feel his loneliness anymore,
and I don't know which is worse.
That I'll never see the wink,
the sparkle of his blue eyes.
Those same blue eyes each of his siblings
and in turn his children received.
And in my sister sometimes
when she's seeing something else,
the transient change of color in her eyes
will reflect the blue of the sky, Lake Huron,
that he taught us to love so well.

I cannot feel his loneliness anymore,
I saw it melt away in those last hours.
I know I'll miss that thoughtful voice,
that still found so much joy
in simple beautiful things.
Sunshine, children and the stars.
The pleased way he spoiled us
with butterscotch and sailing.

I cannot feel his loneliness anymore,
but still hold him in my heart.
And in the end, a memory.
Running along the sun-dappled path
pine needles rustling softly underfoot.
And he was waiting at the end,
perhaps he'll wait again.