Stardust

I would like to be the air

that inhabits you for a moment

only. I would like to be that unnoticed

and that necessary.

Margaret Atwood - Variation on the Word Sleep

All day your chest rises and falls:

inhale, exhale, pause,

as if you had suddenly mastered

the Buddhist art of meditation,

discovered how to count each breath,

what it means to be aware

of this moment only.

Inhale, exhale, pause, and pause again

It is these shallow breaths I'd like to share.

I would like to be the air

That inflates your lungs, to be the bellows

that fans the flame to light your way,

to be your built-in CPR, to dwell inside

this non-space you've travelled to,

this quiet speechless place you found,

with no prior announcement of intent.

There are road to be explored alone.

And you never liked the long farewell.

And so, my love, forgive the small lament

that inhabits you for a moment.

There is no shame in the long and painful fight.

You need not speak again of gun or knife,

of quick release from phantom pain

which haunted the corridors of your night.

We'll stop all the clocks, as Auden said,

but we won't pack up the moon. It must remain focused

on the growing radiance behind your eyes,

even as your body merges with all our bodies,

as spirit's alchemy reduces you to something chaliced

only. I would like to be that unnoticed.

and that distilled, our conjoined bodies

melted down to what will fit in a silver cup

our own holy grail. You move now beyond sorrow,

beyond fear, into that thin and sacred space

which is more than the sum of disparate parts,

more real than what fits into this onyx ossuary,

more intimate than your remembered breath and thought.

Ashes to stardust, you are launched on stellar flight,

and this sudden welling up of love is both that momentary

and that necessary,