Eight summers,
Just enough
for the shimmering wave of memories
to crystallize into solidity.

Patch work quilt
a shield and tear stained marker
-some sort of solid weight
protection from the night
an anchor to my home.

And a television glow
flickering and humming from beneath.
A comforting ripple of laughter
a little past the piano
where she taught me to play.

A strange summer rain
where I sang a song to Jesus
and tried to make her smile,
but watched oceans fill her eyes
before she left with gentle steps.

Summer brings back fragments,
razor sharp and honey sweet
of what I'll never have again.