in which we contemplate death
11:07 a.m. on 2013-01-21
the small clicking of wind through dry leaves clacking of bones against teeth keys in the door.
the outline of your body, fallen, on the way out.
one hand in your pocket, the other, as always, reaching towards death.
darkness pooled in your ventricles pumped through your body brooded blackly and sharp scorpion love stopping your heart
where are you now? leaking winter light, particles in the air, heavy footsteps on the stairs? the way we spoke your name constantly, and then not at all? the division of time into before we found out and after?
we mourned together, anchoring ourselves with embraces for days at a time in circles and tear-soaked sweaters, in the quiet room, our best dressed, at home, forgetting/remembering somewhere inside a bottle, drifting away, finally, messageless in a sea without shores, to mourn alone, to remember you, to remember why we are remembering you, to attempt to construct reality from pieces of nightmares.
where are you now? one hand in your pocket, the other, as always, reaching towards death.