The day before you died
I lay on the floor with you.
We were almost nose to nose although
I held my head back a little
so I could see you better.
You were luminous in the sunlight.
I stroked the sides of your face over
and over like careful polishing,
my fingers soft from the touch.
All qualities transferred,
you would have made an elegant woman
with fine features and beautiful hair
smart, sweet eyes.
When I withdrew my hand
you reached out to touch it back
and I ran my hand over your ribs, your spine
shallow bones, a warm sculpture.
Turn me to stone, you asked.
Turn me to stone.