I slip from beneath
the blanket of sadness
to walk in the light. 

Sixteen years
since your death-
I died too,
For eight years. 

Memories
crystallize in my mind
as jewels, no longer as
teardrops.  Yet, 

the darkness of grief
lingers
to betray me, when,
vulnerable in sleep 

you slip into my dreams.
I fall back through time,
small, scared--
you hold me. 

Together
we weep.
Too quickly you’re gone.
The lost child calls out 

as she swirls
in the ache
toward the half-light
of daybreak. 

                        Copyright © 1986 Pam Patterson