An egg shell, cracked, and clean, below a nest up high. Beside the chair that holds the woman who holds her cat. Eighteen years gone by.
They’ll be here soon, to help him go, beneath the dancing leaves. The day is bright, crisp cool sun, a day I’d choose myself my day.
The blanket dries, freshly clean, dyed indigo in community. In celebration of a life, holding life, raw hope and love.
… I lost the words. I’ll miss you.