God’s arms heal better than mine.

I love you. I miss you.

You are the last I enshrine.

.

An angel’s wings are stitched and refined.

Your brother is waiting in your life anew.

God’s arms heal better than mine.

.

Three nights ended where you held in straight lines.

Your final puff of sleep came, too.

You are the last I enshrine.

.

I hold to the hope our paths intertwine.

Now days think themselves to be less true.

God’s arms heal better than mine.

.

Grandma saw you in clouds and heeded the sign.

Tears heave our chests, as those of family do.

You are the last I enshrine.

.

It’s hard to accept: you, I will never find.

I love you. And I miss you.

But God’s arms heal better than mine.

Baby, my baby, you are the last I enshrine.