a little round blue bird made of glass
green leaves painted on a bright yellow bowl

sailboats printed on an ocean-colored scarf
a pink angel with a broken wing, atop a music box

inside
a scratched and faded color polaroid

taken when she departed
on the Queen Mary

she is a passenger
standing at the rail

at last, she is as buoyant
as the brilliant white clouds

the great horn is sounding
streamers are spiraling through the air

her white-gloved hand
is cupped to her mouth

she is shouting something
you cannot hear

words that would have helped
to heal you so very long ago

as she floats away
her eyes are bright with joyous anticipation 

sparkling
like two radiant stars
                        

you took his fatherly eyes
his kindness, his wisdom

the sound of him whistling
an old jazz standard

you glutton, with your obsession
for perfectly balanced books

I guess you felt he owed you
his reflection in the mirror too

but you cannot take the memory
still alive on my lips

of when I last kissed 
his warm, soft cheek -

it was just before you arrived
to collect your due
                        

crystalline voices
as old as water itself

have come to visit again
this time, disguised as little white shivers -

when listening to snow
be gentle with yourself

as you watch each soft journey down
from the beclouded heights

you may overhear
a beautiful, frightening truth

as they speak of destiny
of transmutation

you may find yourself
for a fleeting moment

clutching those things around you
that seem solid

or visited
by a vague memory 

of disappearing from one life
and being born into another