I am
the grey that strokes your temple
the sigh of your breath
the itch in your palm
the strike of your match.

I am, at times
the cramp in your side
the eye of your storm
the eclipse of your sun.

But I will be as well
your vessel of voyage
the hand on your cane
the wheels of your chair
and the ashes riding tandem on your wave.

Lori Boulard

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/partners/