Everywhere I go, I will see
Something of you--
Something to remind me of you.
And, sometimes, when I see a star,
A special star that twinkles brighter than all the rest--
Though they glitter all, like diamonds in the sky's secrecy--
I will feel an ache in my heart,
And look away, lest it break and bleed.
Often as I go,
I know,
I will look at the inviting green grass of a library's lawn,
Or of a park, a university, a school--some public place--
And I will remember special moments with you.
Especially when I see the library's lawn,
Where you and I and your toddler little girl spent time one day,
A magical day in the cool early autumn evening, still with the sun:
I will remember being with you.
In the power of my love, I will see your heaven of a face;
And the haven that you will slip over me.
I will feel the closenes of you;
So close your breathing harmonized with mine.
I will recall
Your smiles and eyes,
And the laughter of your little girl running at play;
And me fetching for her a pine cone from one of the shade trees--
Feeling for an hour like a father and a husband,
In great domestic joy.
The same domestic pleasure and delight
Will rekindle in my memory and love,
Whenever I recall the day of the July sun,
The gleaming sand of a playground in a park,
And you and I, together, helping your little girl play on the slide.
We were like loving parents of a lovely child;
And, with a kind of pride,
I knew that all who saw us there supposed us so.
I imagined we were so;
And I was happy.
I was happy--
Thanks to you, and your precious companionship,
Briefly changing all the world to sunshine and gold.
I have so many things to remember. 
Sometimes I will remember one thing;
Sometimes another.
I cannot begin to catalogue those here.
What matters that?
The secret of them all is one:
Perfect happiness, from perfect love.
Flying with only one wing--destined to crash--
Just the same,
These were among the best moments of my life.
Sometimes, I know,
I will look at a ceiling, a floor, or a wall--
And I will be blind to it, seeing only your face in my heart's dreams;
As real and lovely
As the golden age of poetry.
I will often think about you, and recall
All that you were to me;
And all that I wish I could have been to you.

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Written by Michael LP, aka MLP
aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC, aka (thanks to Luna Marie) Mr. Poet
Copyright (C) 2011 by Michael LP.  All rigts reserved
(I'm copryrighting my writings for my estate)