within a group of mutual friends
all milling around. The room
with white floor has no walls.
Her husband and son stand nearby.
He walks right up to her,
broad-faced, bright and sweet-
smiling as ever, beard neatly trimmed,
teeth white as hope.
With no explanation of why
he’s suddenly returned from the dead,
he opens his arms, his eyes speak clearly
before his voice follows with,
“I love you,” and he embraces her.
Her startled arms encircle
his shoulders as she answers, “I love you,”
wondering how he’d managed the journey
and what others are thinking of
his inexplicable resurrection.
The simplicity of it.
She doesn’t have time to ask if he cared
about the poem she’d written – the one
about his disappearance
into death. He falls back
into the crowd, lost ever again
behind faces still living.
Her husband, her son – at left, at right.
One hand holding her hand,
one hand gently pressing
Eyes, deepest lakes.
Their gazes flood as murmurs
envelope, her thoughts left to flounder
on beaches of waking.
© Copyright 2005 Susan M. Botich