When she Suzanne died 
Sam survived suicide seizures,
sleepwalked as far as weary graves
on the outskirts of the forlorn island.
 
Cancer had a grip on Sam
she tended and nursed him
from dawn to dusk of that cleavage;
despite drunkenness, battery
and strokes.
Until one cold morning  she slept
soft, quiet, eternal peace.

The constant surge of emotions
Like sea waves dissipated 
on the beach of that passage.

At nights she sang Dion
behind their garden;
danced in the living room, 
made his dish 
of salmons and mushrooms;
repeated his best jokes.

They say the best love 
is earned when lost.
Now he runs his hands 
through her beautiful hair, 
he caresses her skin
in the whispering wind 
and dawny dream.