by Wendy Murphy
please, rain, don't wash away
the last of my love's footprints
I kiss my fingertips to touch the windshield
where muddy paws had been only
a few days ago.
yesterday, on bended knee
by a tiny backyard grave
a hillside just nudged
by spring's thaw
I run my fingers through his
powder grey hair
one last time
before the flowers
before the shovel
here I lower my heart
and bury a peice of my soul
warms spots are gone
from my bed
the familiar voice
a flash of my imagination
I light a candle to remember
rain comes
a window and an eye helplessly bleed
and the footprints vanish
except the one forever
in my heart.