James Miller

What song is closer to your death
than to now sing your final breath
with winds that lift the ocean’s spray
into the mist where I now pray?
Sometimes your voice calls back to me
in dreams I can no longer see
but hear at dawn from this far shore,
the soft waves of our life before.
There is a steeple to our love
that stands in sand as currents shove
the land to sea, the sea to land;
I still will always hold your hand
and will live with a lonely air
that touches you with my long stare
that sees the sunlight gray right now—
we lose our love but love somehow.