I float by your side
like a balloon
you still hold onto
from childhood.
Your blue eyes
reflect on my face
turning me blue—
Lake Crescent blue.
I hover close
as you wash coffee cups,
sweep the floor
and make the bed.
Today, you have
less patience
for the mud
tracked across the floor.
Each clod reminds you
of the grave
and the first shovel full
tossed in ceremony.
You tie me
to the brass door nob
and lose yourself
rereading The Hobbit.
Before bed you cry
because you require a pill
for some semblance of sleep
next to my absence.
The chemical chain
unties me from the door nob.
After you toss the covers
I float into your dreams.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 