Maybe it’s her chair space you’re holding,
the one she sat in at the table,
or the weary recliner that held her
when you could not.

Her space in the world seems to have
vanished, as she seems to have
drifted into the ether, but now,
she is all space, in every molecule
of air, in the softest of breezes
brushing your cheeks.

Like that. As you cannot see
the wind, you cannot see her.
But you can feel her passing by,
bestowing a true air kiss.

You do not need to hold space
for her. She’s doing that for you
every place, as she always did,
whether you recognized it or not.

Listen for her on the breeze,
swirling, whispering,
Nothing left but the love,
my dear, nothing but love.