I miss you most
when I cook asparagus or eat wild berries.
I think of your soft, kind mannerisms,
your playful sense of humor,
your childlike soul.
I miss your explanations of plants and birds.
To my understanding, your face
was always ancient,
but never did any of your actions
betray your age.
I am happy I can remember you
that way: smiling, healthy,
not like that picture,
where the life was drawn from your cheeks,
and your illness had left its mark,
even in your bright, puckish eyes.
I remember that death
is never acceptable,
even if we all