X Diary 06 Spring Breeze Poem by Stewart McKenzie

When my mother was dying she said to me wryly,
Detaching herself from horror and pain.
“If reason allowed the longing, at least,
For metamorphosis after death,
I would wish to become a wandering breeze
In the fragrance of early spring.”

Now, on this first Philadelphian morning
That winter is softened by drifting airs,
There is ghostly laughter through films of grief,
And the past and the future meet in the winds.
“We are here, my dear. We have always been here.
How could any one of us disappear? ”