Our Souls Held On

THE OMENS ARRIVE XXV.  August 30, 2015

Dear Mikhail, I wish I could send you
the zinnia flowers I brought inside
last night.  Their bold colors reassure.
How I labored for them.  The weeds were
two feet high, their roots tough to yield.
I sowed seed late, and then the weeds
returned with the seedlings.  So again
on hands and knees I weeded out grass.
As they began to bloom the voles
returned to their underground lairs, 
and the dog dug crazily despite my
command: “Stay out of my flowers.”
Yet here they are–petals of splendor: 
the deep red of blood when it hits
the air; the yellow of new gold; 
the nearly green white of certain
glass bottles; the deep orange of
the sun before it slips into ocean;
the light pink of a spring prom
dress, and the deep pink, nearly
red of a young girl’s blush.  Would
that I could put them beside you where
you work and sleep, battling now 
against time.  They tell me you are 
very sick, don’t go out.  I know
your passion to write because I
have it, too.  That’s where our souls
joined for the sake of our writing and
that of others, to save, publish, spread
word of the truth we knew and must 
tell.  I have had to live with you 6000
miles away, and yet our souls held on.
We couldn’t undo that deep a bond, 
nor did we want to.  I’ll finish the
work we began.  I’ll tell the story
to the whole world.  Believe, dear 
heart, that I will always love you.  
We may lose our lives but 
our love is here to stay.