Midsummer Mirage

hot, steamy night
standing on my upstairs deck,
cotton nightgown tousled by warm wind,
I see the back door below
and all the people who have entered
this house, my refuge, my kingdom

tonight I see you
standing by the door waiting
you have no keys, of course
(we took them when you died)
so in my mind
I fly down to let you in

your hair, so beautiful
I had forgotten almost
your voice, your arms …
we sit after an embrace
so long the night passes into day
as we catch up on these ten years

being dead sounds sort of nice,
I say — he has no tension,
no awareness of this broken world
by dawn, my sorrow forces a confession
fears, heartaches, longings spill over:
the gifts, the burdens of being sentient

he can’t quite remember living
but he takes my word for it
before he disappears into ether
or maybe just my imagination
as I return to the deck
on this sultry summer evening