To the memory of Madame Josephine,
who departed this life
on the thirteenth day of May,
MMXXIII (2023)

We did not know then,
in those unguarded days,
that in the quiet of your lap
the stories you whispered
had not yet become memory,
nor had life learned
the art of turning to dust.

I can still
catch the trace of your perfume
upon your arms,
your silken hands
bearing two rings of gold,
forever waiting for something
that grieved your leaving
and still dreams of you.

There were stories left untold,
a past that did not finish speaking.

You departed
in your own time.

And in the wind I am still holding
that solitude
I, too, inherited
and which still shelters me.