Now,

two years later

I see you

in the sunlight patterns that cross my wall in winter.

I can think of you

on a summer night full of stars.

You are with me

as the autumn wind

gently moves the leaves outside my window.

You surround me now with gentleness.

But,

at the time you died it was different.

I remember waiting.

The whole week

the angel of death hovered in the room

but I did not know.

The angel was more patient than you or I

as we breathed together

that week.

Your room stayed quiet as we waited.

The angel wrapped around everything

until the curtains disappeared

and the angel took on its colors.

It was about you and the angel now.

Goodbye was no color at all.

Hands held across the ocean let go.

  Your brother in Paris would die next.

    Then, in a village in Provence

      my young cousin died.

        The Mediterranean villages still hang on the hillside

          but the people fall off.

Regrets can be polished like stones.

I should have held your hand.

I did not do all I wanted to do for you.

Why couldn't I have prevented this?

We stop in the hall

or pour coffee in the kitchen.

We pick up the toy that has been left behind.

The bus is on time and everyone is at their appointed place.

Where are you now?

* * * * * * *

                              Now winter quiets the colors.

                              I can walk and remember you.

                              If it were time I could plant a tree,

                              perhaps a redwood to honor you.

                              When spring comes again

                              it will be a good time to buy a blue watering can

                              and choose new seeds.

                              The days will soon get longer

                              and evening won't come so soon.

Going through old photo albums

where you are young again.

Remembering ancestors is a new treasure hunt.

I discovered

that you left us your dancing dress.

We could dance again.

The summer night has a thousand stars.

One day        

I saw        

the landscape painted        

in watercolor washes.        

Then,        

I could rest        

and think of you.        

Now,

all my days

you,

as a multicolored bird spirit,

will fly through my life

again.

* * * * * * *

The above are excerpts from the author's book, Painting Out of Sorrow, (hardcover, 87 pages, 21 full-page paintings). It is available for $20, including shipping, by contacting the author directly at claudinebing@aol.com.