Moments as These

You strangely knew I was there.
Did you not? You abandoned, gentle
spirit, at peace finally, flailing arms stilled,
aching body now relaxed. I sit by
your side, feeling like an empty chair
although both you and I are present
to the quiet. With reticence, I re-
fasten your hair with the Slovakian
clasp you wore so proudly. I say the Our
Father in your native tongue, mixing up
only the final words and no one to
correct me. You are unusually quiet
I note and then remember you are dead.
The clock clangs, the cuckoo chirps.
The hands tick. I check the back of
my hands. Yes, still splotched pink
like yours. With relief, I shed a tear,
my only one this whole long night.
It lands on my splotched hands. I lift them
up, in utter praise. For moments such
as these.