A breeze blows
Brushing the branches of the bush nearby.
On the breeze an echo,
a sigh, a gurgle of childish laughter.
Is that you, my son?
Do you see the leaves fluttering?
Can you hear me when I talk to you?
Are you there?
And I long for him, for that moment,
that breeze in the bushes,
the smell of oranges or jasmine floats out of place nearby,
the echo of giggles and laughter,
the calm and the peace, a presence near me,
just out of my reach, but real,
and my heart leaps and beats
and whispers Gabriel?
I want to know if it is him that I sense.
To know he is still there.
To know he is.
Sometimes I hear a whisper
'Mama, are you there?
Do you see me?
Do you see?'
A whisper carried on the wind,
as leaves rustle nearby.
Yes, my son, I see.
I see you.
I see you there.
And more quietly still,
Thank you, sweet boy.