il_fullxfull.328869000what was lost, is not
you were meant to die
you were not meant to die
we were both so alive
even though, without modern means
your poor head, my aching conscience
may have felt the drop of earth
far earlier
the stars so alight, over our premature sleep
we did not think we could lose
and still
life shows us in picture cards
‘having a wonderful time, wish you were here!’
how tender the road without direction
how still the clock in hospital room
counting down, looking up
explanations for frailty
pistacho shells growing in number
blood coursing through our stride
the winding path and sudden start of deer
their black eyes, wells of ink
if I had to do the same again I wouldn’t change anything
but maybe, plant better roots
for sickness can shake the most stalwart
where everything is thrown around and
stooping to bend fallen moments
can seem like it will never
rebuild what was lost
life can
be a small flame, hardly visible
it may appear to flicker
and still you endure
the absurdity of surviving
we laugh at photos of catheters
because it is the only way to clamber over
the horror still lying beneath everything
after all
who expects to reach out and find
the dissolve of certainty?
after all
who believes the boogie man under the bed
will actually show himself?
in the gowns of harried doctors
who poke and prod and pronounce
after all
our world is in short supply of tenderness
and when we implore God
or the toilet bowl
for strength and a little succor
how do we imagine the rescue?
after all
it may be a stranger who
reaches out
a loved one who
turns away
such is the carnival
and round lights grow hot
on your restlessness
after all
it is not easy to be
cast in uncertainty
adrift we only know
the tug of another’s flounder
we are strong in
searching each other
for direction
embracing imperfection
as if it were
the most beautiful moment
from horror comes
straight-backed on her tired horse
the unspooling of
for as sure as you are still
racing by my side
what was lost
is not