Sometimes, my brain works overtime,
hell-bent to redesign the past.
What if… If only… Why… Why not…
a litany of grief miscast.
What do others see
who look at me
I am cracked pot
bird with broken wing
severed vine
unwilling shrine
The pair of you lit up our hearts,
shoulder-to-shoulder, full-grown men.
We saw in you the boys you were,
recalled the sweetness that had been.
image by Tony I on UnsplashI look ahead and dread the view,
a tunnel of days to get to you,
a tunnel of looming days until
I see your face and drink my fill
of all you are and all you mean,
a tunnel of days that stand between
me and the gift that once was mine –
to stand beside you, shade or shine.
I guess I always knew
he wasn’t mine to keep,
and yet I prayed he’d stick around
until I went to sleep.
The ocean pounding on the shore
Awakens with a crashing roar
Reminds me that you are no more
He left in his own
time, his chosen way.
I find in me
no spirit
to begrudge it.
city beat
city heat
miles of pavement
pulsing feet