you were there,
when we drank red wine
and ate little chocolate cookies
shaped like the letters of the alphabet
on that night
when only a little moon light was shining on us.
she wore polka dots
and i wore stripes
and the only other thing separating us
were the 6 decades she had on this planet
before i came into being.
she didn’t just have them, she lived them, and exuberantly so,
but i won’t go into that now; she should do that. it’s a treat.
when i read to her your poem,
and heard her murmur the words alongside with me from memory and heart,
the question seemed to be:
“what will i see when my eyes can no longer see the sun?
will there still be light
on the inside?”