and this one:

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
By E. E. Cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                      i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

this, too:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmRjGBFg1a0&feature=share&list=RDckqO2zjL5Wk&index=4

A few poems for you since I can't find the right words right now

"Although the wind..."

By Izumi Shikibu

Translated by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani

Although the wind
blows terribly here,
the moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house.

 --
 My favorite (and from that movie you loved!), I wish I had selected this for your funeral:

 One Art

By Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I love my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (write it!) like disaster.

--

There are parts of this one that I don't like, so let me just type you the excerpts that I do:

You Were You Are Elegy

By Mary Jo Bang

Destined not to be forever
Destined to become other
To mother. Here I am
Sitting on a chair, thinking
About you. Thinking
About how it was
To Talk to you.

Because good could always be seen
Glimmering like lame glimmers
In the window of a shop
Called Beautiful
Things Never Last Forever.
I loved you. I love you. You were.
And you are. Life is experience.
It's all so simple. Experience is
The chair we sit on.
The sitting. The thinking
Of you where you are a blank
To be Filled
In by missing. I loved you.
I love you like I love
All beautiful things.
True beauty is seldom.
You were. You are.

You were. You are
The brightest thing in the shop window

---

I wish you were here longer, so that we could have grown old together like you and Bushie. I can't tell you how much I wanted you there to teach me all of the things that I still needed to learn from you, like how to be a good mother. I don't know if I can have kids now, I don't think I can do it without you. I wish I had been on that walk with you.

Dad won't move your blue shirt from Muffin's chair by the computer because it's one of the last things that he did and he's absolutely heartbroken. 

This one makes me think of you and Bushie:

Your Clothes

by Judith Kroll

Of Course they are empty shells, without hope of animation.
Of course they are artifacts.

Even if my sister and I should wear some,
or if we give others away,

They will always be your clothes without you,
as we will always be your daughters without     you.

---

All I can handle right now are other people's words. Every morning I wake up from having forgotten and I'm heartbroken all over again.