It’s in her hand writing.
The black ink across the lined paper.
Yet it is her, what we have left.
The words flowed from her heart to her brain,
through her arm to her hand,
through the pen leaving circles, dots and flourishes,
which through the Grace of God,
the light reflects into my eyes,
into my brain,
and into my heart.
from a woman who can not speak,
wrap her soul, her love, her thoughts,
around my shoulders,
as the tears flow.