You and me, in that tiny cabin, washing dishes, looking out over a weedy field to the pond. A simple human chore, made easier when shared. The truth in you stirred the long dead truth in me. I can still feel your hand brush against mine. I want to stay here in this space, so that feeling never fades.
     We all went to the pond, you swam, I watched. My eyes never left you, and after, we sat in the grass and talked of nothing that I remember. We talked on the phone, reached for speeding trains through our emails. I sent you flowers, you fed me a picnic. On the lakeshore, we watched the boats and willows blowing in the breeze.
     You kept stirring those ashes, till you found the coal. Hard, smelly, dirty, ugly coal. “Hold still,” you said, before you kissed that coal with softest lips, holding my face in your hands. A spark and combustion that frightened us both, two lonely souls, too lost for love. You were much braver than I.
     I betrayed you with my fear, and then you were gone, air sucked from my chest, no longer a fire, just the emptiness of guilt. Your Celtic, pagan seed birthed a raven and a shield, inked into my arm. Freshly aware of fragile life, I returned to the land that feeds my soul.
     You sent them, didn’t you? …our seven sisters who lifted me from my selfish mourning to look into the sky. They and the other guides, especially the wind, singing in the trees, roaring across the canyons, have brought your heart back to me, teaching me what I must do, who I must serve.
     You can see now, can’t you? Finally, the vacuum has expanded into a space worthy of your memory.
     I will try, my friend, to be a worthy vessel for that space.

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