The Belated Farewell Poem by Allen Blue

I want these words to feel
like the delicate skin
on the underside
of your favorite flower.

I want you listening for me
as the Japanese listen for their dead
in the wind through the trees
and the crickets in the grass.

I hear the tears that I cannot assuage,
but I will rise from out of the ashes
to put an arm around you
if you promise not to look for me.

I'll tell you that in the final moments,
I saw you again with a white hibiscus,
your favorite flower, between your fingers,
saying you wished you could be as beautiful.

Death does not hurt as much
as not having the time to prove a beauty
that I could see as clearly as the stars
rising over the desert hills
ahead of what would be my final moon.