Dedicated, dedicated

To Irving, aged 93

In a four-syllable, one-word refrain,
you are the bass that grounds

my sound.  I go soaring
–dedicated–way up high

and come back to you
–dedicated–growly and low.

If I change key on a whim,
curious, you are there.

In my dreams, we sing
a duet, a marvelous weaving

like the landscape of verdant greens
winking from the window

of this plane.  I believed
in you, with the mistaken

notion I should search
–as if a shore would fret

at low tide, left dry and gasping
for that distant pounding surf, just

a low hum.  And with my child
eyes, I know that clouds

escape the vault of heaven
and this fog is the only

remains when mountains go
walkabout.  The pure irony of longing

satisfied by a shift-splash
in perception, hearing the never-

ending song and ah,
I’m so dedicated to you.

Inspired by my cousin’s pure grief at the death of his wife of 67 years, a dream after the funeral, and these prompts:  Curious, Verdant, Irony, Splash and Vault.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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