Here you are

How to paint such lightness, as if conveying air itself?
You are never non-moving. How can I catch the lustre,
feather-gems flowing ochre to turquoise to navy blue?
I could stitch in sequins – no, they are heavy, will flake,
and will fade to grey in the end, and no slivers of gems
– they are too unchanging, and seashells are too rough.
So, how about water? I will paint you in dyes from trees
and berries and mud. You will already be there, reflected,
and I will pin down your outline, the echoes of your spirit
– and look, in a flicker, you are gone. But I have a trace.
Your eyes are planetary, your throat is a rose-frill of pink:
as with stars, we are looking back at something ancient,
long since left, and yet we can see. Is this death, or living?
I just know, in this one brief moment, we were all here.