Outside the sliding glass door,
we sat side by side
in two tan plastic chairs with faded blue cushions,
on the painted brick-red cedar deck.
He wore a gray flannel shirt like he'd worn
years ago building this deck.
His handsomely silhouetted face was now rounded
like an overinflated tire from the treatments.
We sat on the deck this last time.
The afternoon finally warm
that spring day
after a long sick winter of rain and gray.
We sat in the sun.
We didn't speak.
There was no need.
We just held hands.
Rufus humming birds raced about,
chasing one another,
in their haste to claim the feeder as their own.
As we had raced about for forty years.
A few early purple pansies
in a painted blue planter,
leaned their faces
as if searching for a succulent summer sun.
We sat in the sun.
We didn't speak.
There was no need.
We just held hands.
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