Let Saturday spill through my window;
silhouette of daffodils reflecting yellow
through the shutters as I turn over
and his hand is missing from mine,
but the scent on his pillow remains,
leaving me inhaling the presence
of love and last night’s conversation.
We hesitate to let morning come,
but, oh, how the sun lends light to life;
the red glimmer from a cardinal
taps a love song upon the stained glass;
butterflies chasing daisies, swaying
even in the absence of an august breeze.
At six o’clock A.M., silence hums
and a far away melody strums
to my heart, soft, like his blessings;
like the words we whisper
when no one else is listening.