for Rachel Woodard
Grey as the in-between of everything
never meant to be understood—
your eyes had a way
of taking the weight of the day
from my shoulders;
when they could not, I found in them
such forgiveness for my defeat.
Heartfully, I always listened
when your wisdom asked for my attention—
our words, sparse enough,
were generally traded
with playful mischief.
in the years since I saw your face last,
photographs have come to feel
something like prayers.
I miss, most of all,
the way your smile sounded.
Previously published at Black Elephant – Issue 3 / September 2016