“Rewind the Film I wish I had a film of you. I’d love to see you move again, to see the gestures that I knew when you were here, as we were then, and know I’d not forgotten what was true of you and what was not. I’d watch as if through window panes and you still moved beyond the glass, knowing memory remains although the years and lives must pass, and from your movements could infer the unity of what you were. Perhaps I’d hear your voice again, if no more than a sound or two, and know it as I knew it when we rested on the grass, and you would close your eyes and feel the sun as if the end had not begun. I’d know that what I heard and saw was not the shadow of my mind and know you almost as before, when in the outward form I’d find the creature that I couldn’t see or hear, and all you were to me, as if I felt a wind that blew across that insubstantial day or sun illuminating you because I’ve felt the sunlight play on flesh, and though the hours pass had reached the world beyond the glass.” DeathPoetryLossMemory Book:Voices from Another Room Source: Voices from Another Room