Literature
Migration
I kept
a version of you
alive in the words I wrote,
like the personages,
fauna, and flora
which painters immortalize
on canvas.
You didn’t disappear,
but rather transformed.
You were in a cocoon
of timelessness
and sorrow
and regret,
and you emerged from it
alive in poetic diction.
You fluttered about
the mind and the memories,
the pages and the pen,
and my outstretched hand;
and smiling,
I lifted you up to the sky
and watched you leave
as silently and gracefully
as you appeared.
