<- Back to main page

That summer

by Marilyn Baszczynski


in the days after you died,

I felt you all around me

in the wind.


It was your heartbeat

in the trees,

rustling leaves,

sending eddies of energy

shooting shivers up my spine.


You join the pulsing

of day and night,

disperse sparks

scattered across fields,

wafting away

on ebullient glints of stream.


I gather up bits,

your story, hope that

in the collected

vibrations of a life spent,

there is some way


to refuel the world.