Looking at you from beyond

True, it is strange to live no longer on earth,

and to practice no longer customs scarcely acquired.

—Rilke, The First Elegy

(for L.)

You shift your body with sudden movement now

that I am gone, a queen-sized bed too grand

for one. Returning as in the movies, I vow

to view your every motion, as spoon in hand

brings shredded wheat up to your mouth, routine

I took for granted when we shared. Two cats

bound out from neighbors’ roofs, their fur as clean

as sidewalks washed by last night’s storm, old spats

now disappeared, wounds now healed. One wraps

her tail around your leg and lets you trace

from base of ears clear down her back, a map

allowing giver and receiver this place

of brief communion, yes in spite of no.

Just know: I’ll hold the door when you must follow.

Janice Dabney