To One Who Died

To one who died You died and still I long for you, to touch you again, your soft, smooth hair. You died. Jabs of sorrow pierce my heart—You died. And yet: Am I not speaking to you now, my beloved? It is not to ashes that I speak, but to you. So why then would my heart be lonely-lonesome-sorrowful when I speak these words to you? Nothing—no, not even uneven death—can hinder me from stretching out towards you, heart and mind, across the unlimited, unillumined void— that seems to untrained eyes so dark and cold. Is it really an abyss of nothingness between us? Is there really any space or time between us? Are you not, rather, here with me as I speak to you, beloved? When I long for what we had together, you and I, Sorrow breaks in and drowns my mind, aches my heart. Not what we have now floods my soul with grief, but what I wish for yet again, remembering. Then you presented yourself to me in body, and I responded. But now you are unseen, perhaps unfelt, reached only by silent-sounding, wondering love. Such love that sounds the unseen depths or infinitely small space between us, you and I. Are you not here, my beautiful one, as I speak to you? Are you not with me intimately, too close for eyes to see? Let me not reach out fearfully, perhaps missing you, as if you were somewhere far away in time and space. You are not adrift in empty space, my beloved. You are, my loving friend, present in ways I may not know. You in whom I loved and love your wild, gypsy heart, your self-abandoning, dancing-free body-spirit. I loved and love your uncontrollable-spontaneous you, who never let me once forget your presence: You, the master-mistress of my soul’s awakening, You, the mistress-master of my soul’s delight. How fresh-alive, how well-named you are, So full of life—ever-unexpected, unreserving, uncontrollable life— Such a force—a fully-fierce force—but ever gentle, never aggressive. And you smile, perhaps at me, you mother-mama, I your child? You knew and loved me through and through. And so you know well what joy you gave me being you yourself alive with unbridled life. And being you as you are, even now, my delight, Are you not as unpredictable, uncontrollable as ever? Are you not still with me in your way, on your terms, and not on mine?  No place to hide but wonder. You wild woman of free and liberating love! May I never cease loving you forever-today, and now— Today, while the blossom blooms fresh on the vine… —Wm. Paul McKane    11 Sept 2014