And what if now again I find,
Leafing through some empty lane
Curiously twined inside my mind
A memory of you?

Of teacups yellow in the sun
And spoons reflecting spots of light
Upon the wrinkled cloth.
Of clothes thrown scattered carelessly
Upon a wicker bedroom chair
Still warm from you.
Of your small whisper burned so deep
Hushed and tremulous with surprise
“I’ve always been alive, you know!”

Then it’s still true.