what measure this –
the meeting
of ancient light to soul
in stories
tell me once again –
before my bones grow cold

brittle
as beginning they
warmed within your arms
gather me
tether me –
against the sweet foretelling
of alarm

where name becomes
a memory –
some other life begins
beyond this golden sunset
I exist –
remember how I loved
how I’ll miss

the making of each moment
within the nights to come

let me go
how far and still –
already
I’ll be home

. . .

Cheryl McCann
5/30/1977 ~ 02/26/2020