Her virgin auburn tresses fell, like a copper prayer in a wishing well. She refused to wear a headscarf, Choosing instead to wear the elements, The wind, the rain, And when we kissed – a smile. The shed would become my reprieve, I would turn on the saw and I could grieve. Sitting in silence with hands clasped in prayer, That pointed to a God who didn’t seem to care. She came in sometimes to ask what I was making And would blow from my eyes the dust from the wood shaving. Leaving a river of dried wooden gold. I am closed to our open house, Where friends talk to us both in differing tones. I am deaf to the word ‘sad’, And words like ‘unfortunate’ to describe our predicament. All I try and remember are little things, Like the way she rasps before she sings, And the way she dots her nose and face with cream, Knowing I am watching and adoring her. It’s about moments and not the days forecasted, Life may be terminal, But some love lasts forever. for catherine & robert