My feet kiss the edge of Saturn’s outermost ring
where stardust shimmers like December snow,
cloaking me in curtains of diamond, diamond pouring
into my eyes, tingling across my lips, my tongue,
filling my ears with cosmic cotton balls, little spheres
that whisper lyrics of a song you wrote some time ago,
a song you wrote a life ago — your honeysuckle melody
coats the mid-evening air while sweet potatoes roast
in the oven, brown sugar waves dance through the home,
our home, filled with laughter of children, three children,
their joy echoing from somewhere far, far away,
as your back presses into my chest and we sway,
we sway, we sway — and here I am, crying for that song,
that song we’ll never share the same way, that song
I still carry with me, no matter what lies beyond.

[Editor’s Note: Publication of this poem was made possible by a gift from Bess Turner during our annual Kickstarter.]