Do you remember opening the door? 

Your eyes looked straight into mine
and they shone, lighthouse beacons 
over my then-buried soul, and you 
became my resurrection. 

 In my memory of the cloudy evenings 
and the mornings soft with fog, 
I smell the distant sea of ours and wonder
how the light in you has shifted, 

wherever you are now. 

By Heidi Turner