Grief not, rather find, strength in what remains behind.

Rain falling through magnolia trees -
slow, hollow plips -
on the down-turned leaves.

From behind, I watch you -
you tuck a hand in your jacket
and sigh.
Your breath hangs heavy
in the wet, thick air -
for a moment,
your spirit has escaped
and I am afraid for you.

You are so frail,
your shadow gaunt on the curves
of pavement,
haloed in copper mist.

But in your footsteps
I hear the steel echoes
of assurance -
it is penned on your wrists
and tattooed on your heart.

Then I am you
again
and the weight of lambskin
and the damp cool of midnight
and the space between breaths
settle on my shoulders
again.