At Work

At work I am designing a memorial card. The story behind it is one of the sadest stories I have ever heard. I cannot share it for privacy reasons. Needless to say I had a geat cry at work as I worked on it. This is the poem the mother brought in to use on her daughter, a young bride's memorial card...

When I Die, I Want Your Hands on My Eyes

When I die, I want your hands on my eyes one more time:
I want the light and wheat of your beloved hands
to pass their freshness over me once more:
I want to feel the softness that changed my destiny.

I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep.
I want your ears to go on hearing the wind, I want you
to smell the sea that we loved together,
and for you to go on walking on the sand where we walked.

I want what I love to go on living,
and you who I love and sang above everything else
to continue to flourish, full-flowered:

so that you can reach everything my love directs you to,
so that my shadow passes through your hair,
so they know by this the reason for my song.

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