Mantra

She said I spoke to you…while ailing and delirious, and I remember what I was saying, but can’t recall hearing the sound of your voice, nor feeling an air of your presence – at all, at the time, except for a part of an unfinished sentence, on an obscure page of a much-unused diary, where you wrote that the discovery of your life had been that you were wrong…

and I wanted to finish the sentence in writing: you were loved…you are remembered…

yet all my demons held me there as I kept murmuring in hopeless delirium… as if to answer an expected question: “yes I am a part of you” “yes I am a part of you” “yes I am a part of you” “yes I am a part of you”