To climb these stairs again
Bearing a tray
Might be to find you pillowed with your books
Your inventories resting gowns and frocks
As if preparing for a holiday
Returning from the landing, I might find my presence watching
Through your kaleidoscope
A symmetry of husbands
Each redesigned in lovely forms of foresight
Prayer and hope
I climb these stairs again a dozen times a day and
By the open window
Wait
Looking in at where you died
My hands become a tray
Offering me my flesh, my soul, my skin
Grief wrongs us so
I stand and wait
And cry for the absurd forgiveness
Not knowing why