The birds were in the market square.
Your summer shawl was wrapped around,
Your shoulders in the evening air.
You tugged my sleeve, so I slowed down.
I smiled at how you love this place.
How all these things fill your eyes.
And as I bent to kiss your face,
You turned to me and seemed to rise.
And it was then, I saw the light.
I felt the air, go rushing past.
These things are fixed, now in my sight.
Your face. The fire. The flying glass.
I seldom drink, not since that night.
I've wondered if I were a ghost.
I've cursed at those who made that light.
Beyond these things I've missed you most.
When late at night, I dream of you.
The little things. Your face. Your eyes.
And walking in, our market, too.
But even in, my dreams, you rise. You rise.