My love sleeps in the blue hue
of our dimly lit living room
on her pale blue recliner,
her hands folded on her lap.
She is warmed by her
woven, white, wool blanket,
pulled to her chin.
She is still,
but for rhythmic puffs of breath
whispering from her lips.
I weep to see her there
as at a wake,
knowing,
(even in this sweetness)
that if it were so,
every atom in my soul
would break.
Poems by Ken 
Heartbreaking and beautiful.