And now,
the piercing loss
of the beloved
newly gone
eases a wee bit

as you walk past
tulips standing at
attention, as loose-
lipped blossoms
waggle a springy

hello, dazzling scarlet,
happy yellow, soft
salmon, flaming
poppies flashing
their bellies to the sky.

They stop you,
bend you closer—
life eternal right
there, the promise
of spring given

even as the beloved,
encased in mystery,
somehow feels
present, waving in
the soft breeze,

reminding you,

Here I am, right here,
always here—
I promise—
even when you think
I’m not.