by Cat Coule
Staring didn’t accomplish much
But to make my eyes much wetter.
No matter how much power lies in my irises,
It was much less than enough to bring back life to his.
Alas, he was now among the unseen, where eyes have little influence.
So I sang, the sounds among us channeled to his ears which may still work,
And wayward wind licked the life from his skin,
Whipping elements away to their new home, among his quad of kin:
To one, the gift of water, from his years upon the seas;
To two, the gift of fire, which, for 96 years, had sparked his sapphire eyes;
To three, the gift of earth, so she could root herself so deeply;
To four – that’s me – the gift of air, so I could whistle the woods to sleep;
A year later, and I feel him strong in my lungs,
His and my breath returned from stagger
to more than ever,
and much more than enough.