Last love.

Author:Miller, Michael

When he covers her hand which is lying

On her lap with his large, heavy hand

And feels his body leaning toward her

On the bench in the nursing home garden,

He feels he is protecting her with his

Entire being that can stride before her,

Although he, like she, can only manage

A step without a walker and must wait

For help to rise from this bench where

He was gently placed in his ninetieth year

Which has brought him close to this woman

Whose delicate hand fits beneath his

Like a pea under a shell in the game

He played with his sister so many years ago.

And if he could speak he would tell her

How her hair, parted like white curtains,

Allows him to imagine that death is only

An opening in light which they can enter

Together, his hand still covering hers,

Though they have never spoken in the warm

Afternoons when he is placed beside her

Before returning to his...

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