• Lorraine Johnson

[94] Reading Leaves

The hour is grey.

You know—that hour when many are as you,

not of the earth but floating in another time and place,

dreaming—perhaps.

And when the mind comes to life,

in a pool of day dreams

sometimes your image appears.

Tears well up in the corners of my eyes

and I reach out for you.

I look intently to remember your eyes,

to hear your voice.

You—always sparkling with pure joy

just to finally be with me—near

—to make that cup of calming tea.

To tell all the stories, with a smile or tears,

till the last leaves lay at the bottom of the cup

—as you read my future and fill me up.


You lifted me to the highest mountain,

with wise words and clarity of mind.

You validated my very being

and made me feel whole,

again and again and again.

You were unconditional.

You were my person, not yet

or ever to be replaced.


Oh does my heart pound

looking to be by your side,

just one more time—even today,

though many moons have passed

through the dark night skies.

Yes, still I yearn to say a last goodbye,

even though peace is filling me whole,

—like the magnificence of a butterfly.


Was that you hovering over that brilliant flower that I saw

—ever so briefly—through the giving glass of my window frame?