For Paul

by Celina Villagarcia

In a hundred years         your fingers
too frail         to braid with mine
legs too burdened by
time’s hand to walk         with me,

I will live the rest of my hundred years
lying in the same bed         as you
mirroring your hollow sack of bones

I will inhale the thousand years of you

My thin skin might skim yours
two cobwebs floating on branches

labored tha tha thumping
             your breath filling

                                          my own

. . . and I will whisper
I love you

My hundred years
are sacred cows

in your pasture