I often see her, still.
True, she is beautiful.
I wonder about her,
in her youth.

She gazes out toward the river
life’s journey before her.
We share.
“It’ll rain soon.”
Her eyes, green grey.
The faraway-look, again.

I often see her, still.
In pictures. In movies.
They are less than her.
I do not see reflections
in her eyes.

She gazes out through windows -
mist shrouds the mountains.
She laughs, shaking her curls
that spiral.
Cascade.
I do not hear the breath
in her voice.

I sometimes see her, still.
In moments,
as if alone together.
The laugh, the voice, her eyes, the breath.
Reflections.
I wonder as she breathes through me
if, without her,
this moment
will let me live.

Copyright Suzy Davies, 2018 All Rights Reserved.