Calling Again II.

My original idea for this poem was very different from the end result, but instead of leaving it be, I tweaked it until it became closer to what I wanted. So now, instead of it being (somewhat ambiguously) about a child dying, it's about someone's spouse dying. Happy stuff, haha.

Calling Again.

Through night's dream catcher I see planets fly,
Through the slivers of huddled trees.
And monlight shines in the corner of my mind,
On whispered silver nights like these.

I see something slender curve and wave,
And something missing speak,
Not the wave of a branch, but the wave of a hand,
Though the vision's very weak.

And in the yard,
Where the trees stand guard,
I'll think I'll see you then,
But as seasons change,
You go out of range,
But I'll hear you call again.

The road I took to work every day,
Was paved over last September.
And the restaurant where we ate a thousand times,
Will be torn down in November.

There are scaffolds high around the church,
And they're redoing the inside.
But everything here is just the same,
A rock worn by time, yes, but not the tide.

And this road of mine,
Now cobweb fine,
As I think of roads that end.
I'll live and pray,
That at the end of my day,
I'll hear you call again.

Forty raindrops on the sill,
For forty years in all,
And forty redwoods on the hill,
Still wait for forty-one, come fall.
And forty one is the number still,
Though forty-five it's been.
And four feels like ten,
Or the number when,
I'll hear you call again.