By Mike O’Connell

her face floats before me,
hours after she’s gone.
her spirit still roams my rooms,
searching for places to meditate,
finding funny in the darkest
of niches, nurturing, wanting,
being the best parts of herself.
she’s a remembered shadow
on my curtain, wavering
with echoes of her laughter
left swirling in the spaces she
occupied, however brief her time
here, holding on to hope,
wherever she may be.