it turns out that we always die alone

it turns out that

we always die alone

and those whose hearts

are with ours

die alone

beside us

all of us together

in isolated

anguish

holding

our breaths as

you breath out 

your last

I finally just said it--

I finally just said it--

what I was thinking--

what she was thinking--

what you have been thinking?

I know there was never

any guarantee but

I really thought we had ten years.

Why the hell don't we 

have ten more years?

A call came in--

Your name on the screen--

my heart filled with water,

my stomach with salt.

Oh God, what I would have given

to answer that call

and hear your old voice

from before the long, choking years

of its descending silence

like I sometimes do in dreams.

But as I summoned the strength

for a cheerful hello

the call cut off

and the salt ate through to the water

to pour out into 

the vast space left 

in the silence of your voice.

Anatomy of Grieving

I hate TV dramas.
I hate catharsis.
I hate trite 
touching tragedies
that you watch
for a purging weep
on the weekend.
But you said 
three letters--
A. L. S.--
and I watched 
Grey's Anatomy
for weeks
so I wouldn't have 
to admit
I was weeping 
for me

and for you

losing you.

if i thought death was always a door

 if i thought death was always a door
to a single place and time
would i walk through it
to get there before you?
sometimes i think i would
but my life isn't paid in full--
i still owe it to others and as much
as i wish i could slam that door,
i know your toll is paid 
and you are going.

winter sycamore

i am a winter sycamore
bone stark
bedecked with cold sun

seeds--a waiting

that looks like death

your spark a star

the universe 

        will not feel 

                Your passage     

                        but i will

the bright dark 

        will ever be 

                one spark less

  

that spark a 

        Star to me

                a compass point

    

in the dark

        i will know

                far beyond my eyes