Coalescence

for Annick

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

By the river again, finally
and I hear your voice rapt
in the glimmer of wave
speaking poetry like a
flowing medieval dance
among flower gardens.

One petal at a time descends
into white caps wedged
at the reedy edge until
whole faces of dahlia
dizzy themselves in
cool shade pools,
mesmerizing me in
swirling fuchsia wakes.

This is the moment when
I understand your poems —

how delicately you collect memories
in language and form;

how delicately you compose
tributes to the dears you’ve lost,
keeping their light alive
with your words.

Marie Marchand ©