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I observe from above, unknown in the places where your eyes can't see;
I behold all.
I listen from above, even your sacred whispers and your secrets;
I hear all.
I hold you locked in my vaporous gaze;
a vision of gracefulness and tranquillity visited upon me.
I reach out to touch you, to feel your soft skin
under my fingers,
but I cannot . . .
I try to speak, to make you hear,
but I have no voice
with which to speak . . .
And my lost soul eternally
cries as, from above, I watch you
place a single,
glistening red rose
upon the grave
that bears my name.
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