MUSED
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Table of Contents

Poetry


While You're on The Respirator

James Miller

What song is closer to your death
than to now sing your final breath
with winds that lift the ocean’s spray
into the mist where I now pray?
Sometimes your voice calls back to me
in dreams I can no longer see
but hear at dawn from this far shore,
the soft waves of our life before.
There is a steeple to our love
that stands in sand as currents shove
the land to sea, the sea to land;
I still will always hold your hand
and will live with a lonely air
that touches you with my long stare
that sees the sunlight gray right now—
we lose our love but love somehow.




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