Can you come up?

This from her at the top of the stairs, quietly,

under her breath,

not to me, not so much words as thought,

carefully formed, escaping.

Are you coming up?

Softly.

~

(on the edge   in that place of in between

stand   still 

stand still for a very long time

perceptions flood and fill the void quickly

then simmer 

settling into something beyond   akin to nothingness

stand still longer than is comfortable

imagine nothing

be aware of new perceptions

they come   almost more than a soul can bear

as grief

may be more than one can bear

but also as light)

~

Look.

~

She is looking through the second

story window.

I know what she sees,

but not all of what she sees.

Are you coming? 

Standing sideways to the window

I see her in silhouette,

the stairway between us,

and that much more outside.

~

This is what she means

by beyond.

She must be in between, illuminated

as she is, slant light.

I know what she sees,

but not all of what she sees.

She is in between—

the outside, herself, that at the bottom of the stairs,

what she imagines she sees.

She is in between.

Don't do this, I say. Please don't do this.

~

I climb the stairs to stand beside her.

she listens,

some to me, mostly not

I want her back, I say the words,

but hold no confidence.

It seems that the silence of two

would be too much,

I speak for the both of us.

She looks at me

as she would a stranger, looking

for something familiar,

then turns her head

to look out again.

~

What she sees, exactly,

I cannot say,

not entirely,

but I know well enough.

It is between us, this,

it came to us, set upon us,

now lives between us,

this awful thing.

Maybe it is the changing leaves

she sees,

the thought of it.

She looks at me, or past me.

What she sees and hears

I cannot say or know.

~

Comes a passing cloud, maybe dusk,

the light shifts.

~

Hush now, she says, 

turning back

to set her hand on mine.

Hush now. It's not like that.

Let me be a little.

Let me stand a little—