Elegy for the Reader

Shadows of birds
fly up
the lit blue
behind you

and I laze,
languidly,
practicing breathing,
becoming real again.
 
I dis-
appeared
for awhile;
within those hours
I existed only
to you (live
only in your
memory).

Read to me
while I ready.
The being
  (okay)
is everything.

In days to come,
it is not myself 
I will miss.

_