In Memory of Bisa

When life slips away from one's hands,
We put ours together.
Interlocked.
I should find sorrow in the fact
That such sadness
is the essence of my voice,
But I resort instead to your memories,
And how, through it all,
Your blind happiness was,
and will always be,
The true essence of our hope,
Of our vivacity,
Of our complicity.