I choose to love you
while you are dying,
which is now…
entropy slowing your cells
without evidence,
the ginger of your hair
flashing on the trampoline,
the inexhaustible passion
of your curiosity,
the soft curls of your white hair on your scarf,
the sexy baldness of your tidal lust,
the delicate blond of my paper bag princess…
all these loves
dying while they live,
and me with the midlife gift
of softening to the tragedy,
letting in the tears
that water each breathtaking petal,
rooted in this peaceful garden,
shrivelling to dust
or some timeless nurturing soil.