* * *
Inexorably bound in this
death,
we.
We
lived
this once so freely.
* * *
You just missed her—
she stood out
shone brightly
but she never spoke her own name, so
you missed her.
You missed her—
the coy smile when
she completed the most brilliant creation
and quietly sat expecting and getting nothing,
you missed her.
You missed her
when she showed you art
instead of hurling empty words.
In moments that should’ve been much closer,
you missed her,
and now she’s gone—
Sons
You don’t come down,
not always but always
for food or money or rides
When you don’t come down
you’re there
near
where I can hear
and feel you
near
—
I hope you never have to know
the presence of God in the way we have—
and cry at the grace and beauty and hope and answers
of the light in your bedroom window.
Virga
(Absoluteness was the hope of becoming
and realizing the hopes of days ever-prayed.)
But years faded in and out with each passing season
and those dreams died
with age
and absolute horrible reason.
In between the dreams of rising
and the fear of falling
was that which was never:
the promise kept
the finale seen.
Instead,
The security of retrospect and foresight
and the most miserable—
hope abandoned.
We live with this every day and beyond and beyond.
