I will stand on the veranda
Bare-footed
Letting soot touch worn soles

I will breathe
I will breathe
I will breathe in this breeze.
This height.
This moment.
This hope.

I will close my eyes
in an effort to forget
where I am.
And to remember
where I want to be.
Where I used to be.
I will remember you.

I will remember you
chasing your dog
in the backyard
in the summer.
I will remember you drawing
on your own wrists with a black marker
just to feel so wonderfully eccentric.

I will remember you
with barbecue sauce
in your hair
after I threw a chicken nugget
not even trying to hit you.
After you denied my offer
to bring a wet paper-towel.

I will remember you
standing against the sky
in no effort to look beautiful
but doing it anyway.

I will remember you
on the phone
your voice frightened
and mine confident,
because I was even more frightened
of failing to be your strength
when it was the least I could do
after telling you I would be gone.

I will know your
new found happiness
your renewed laughter
with friends.
I will know the sunlight through your windows
in the morning as you fail to wake up on time.

I will know the end
of the abrupt halt
in your week after I left.
I will know your steps
as you move forward.
Improving.
Always refining,
the beauty of life.

I will know my place
in your life
as it ends
here,
with this last
note
before I step out
onto the veranda.