At Last

^{My lonely days are over 
—Etta James}  

Etta must have known
she crooned this for when I die 
and find you at last

tall and dreamy, at the gate, again
after that one summer with words 
like that crimson-tinted mango

up there, in the limbs above us
about to spill, but left unsaid  
for next summer, that never came

but the words to be said: you
remembered, like yesterday
—the bad day on which they killed you.

They keep killing you Stephen
and it is always, always yesterday
where you never outwear

that cream and black striped T; 
you never outwear that smile— 
looking down on me

with your impossible height
as if already from the sky
and me, barely above the gate

by which we stand, talk and long
to say, to do, to do
to do and say so much at last.

And Etta croons: you smile and then the spell was cast
and here we are in heaven (Stephen)    
for you are mine at last.