Life’s Need for Living

Her ache
touches me
like a run-away train
longing to be a meandering stream.

Her voice.
a soft echo of Echosis,
the timbre of past life remembering
its movement a willow tree's lament.

She walks paths
unseen by most,
holding my hand,
maternal nature unbounding.

When sleeping,
the quiet of her breath
weaves thatched cover,
securing my storm-filled dreams.

Upon awakening.
my mind begs the heart calm,
my spirit often fearful of day's dawning.

She beckons I return to her side,
stroking my cheek,
assuring me
there be no light out there
not already within me.

What healing comfort,
this lifetime of baggage accepted
before her eyes…
especially my pension for repeated
listening to Brubeck’s Take Five.