How many times did I watch you strike a match
and smile like heaven had come down
while high up on the roof
we fiddled with words
and danced around
all the feelings
beyond words,
threw caution
to the wind?

On the cusp
of December, the wind
gusts, pulling the last leaves
one direction, a second current
sucking them back and succeeding
in plucking them from the leaning tree.

It would have been your birthday today.
You’ve been gone six years now.
I strike a match to light another
candle in remembrance and
in celebration of the light
you sparked in me.

A sweeping
surge of love
and then a second
wave of leaden loss
knocks me off center
even as I watch the smoke
curling, rising, disappearing
as I fiddle with words and dance
around all the feelings beyond words.