flowers whisper
Deborah Stidfole Agarwal

I pause

bright red flash of wing
a brush along my hand
coins–
on sidewalks,
in pockets–
small bright things
in the folds of ordinary days

You return in scents,
stray songs drifting,
worn fabrics you favored

small moments
that catch me unaware

I walk your streets.
taste the foods you loved.
use the same little spoons,
slowly,
deliberately–
small rituals
draw you near

I don’t see you–
but you move with me,
quiet as the hum beneath a blossom,
steady as early light,
near as breath



 

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