I carry your final steps within me,
I walk them back, I hold your feet,
I beg them to not walk ahead, I
Imagine them, putting my hands
On your skin, on your shoes, your soles,
Stay, stop hurrying, breathe, stand still,
I’m talking to you, I feel as if I’m crossing
Boundaries, the ones you set, I don’t know,
Would it be selfish to keep you here with us,
Wanting you to stay and live, feel the things
You felt, suffered, did I have to let you go?
Do I have to let you go, accept the steps you took?
The decision you made? Amongst us?
In silence, in loneliness, without fear,
How could death take away all of your fears?
Was life the source of your suffering?
I’m trying to hear you. I’m trying to listen.
I need to understand, I want to.
You were so determined. So rational. So pragmatic.
I didn’t see those steps coming. I want to see your face.
I see you readjusting your shirt. We both do that.
I read somewhere that in order to get rid of your fear
You have to go straight through it, you rode the wind,
You lived, death became the bed that life didn’t know how to soften.