At night I lie awake in bed.

--Someone is watching me.

Wearily I shrug on my fancy clothes.

--Someone is breathing in my ear.

We are driving down Highway 8.

--I feel you beside me.

As we march single file,

--Your hand upon my shoulder

Across the freshly cut grass,

--Feels exactly like it did in days past

I wonder at the angels drawn in stone.

--Yet I’m shuddering in your icy grasp.

Are you visiting me from heaven’s gate?

Or is my grief longing so for a vision of your face?