(He will say)

In this defeat
Lies my greatest victory,
Only the bravest
Can surrender to this deed,
Blushing heart, and crimson cheeks


Till death do us part.



(I'll return with: )

Another sunrise
Comes to play peek-a-boo
Your eyes flutter open
and that's when my day begins
Time after time,
Together we'll venture

Till death do us part.

Hayley Fienne scattered herself a year ago today. A hammer. A trigger. I sent flowers to a funeral home in Chandler, OK. I called. Said, "I can't imagine what you are going through" and something about how time turns the past into a form of fiction. DeLillo wrote that, I think.

Her mom said, "That's not true. That's not true."

And I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't known Hayley like I knew Hayley. She used to do these oil paintings on the nights she knew she wasn't going to class in the morning. I've a layman's knowledge of visual art but even I could tell her work was real. As opposed to what? I don't know. You just felt it. It kicked you in the gut, left you spinning around the room, asking every ******* in tweed, "Can I get some water?"

There was one large canvas in particular that stuck out. She called it "Dissolution."

The work depicted a seemingly amorphous spiral of headlight blues and star whites against the murky black of space. In the dead center of the piece she painted the face of a young man, broken into quadrants. The face was nothing more than a faint veil. If you scanned the canvas, you'd miss it.

When she showed the piece at a gallery event, featuring the work of outgoing seniors, I asked her who the man was.

"It's Jesus."

"You gave him a shave."

"It's actual Jesus. It's 'I'm thinking of converting to Buddhism' Jesus. It's lonely, masturbatory Jesus. It's the Jesus who stares at a ceiling fan wondering why Peter won't text him back," she said. "And above all, it's the Jesus God asks a little too much of, the Jesus that calls in sick."

I said I was unaware such a Jesus existed.

"Exists. Dealing with impossible quotas, he has to shave."

"I think your Jesus looks like you."

"He is."



Now it's a year later. I find comfort in the painting, allowing the erratic brush strokes, both fleeing and advancing, to lull me to--what? Just lull, I grant, aimless and asking answerless questions.

I think about her at the end, at her end-- but not the violence of it all. No, I think of the release.

No intended romance. I simply wonder how she would have wanted that final let-go in life's calendar marked by letting-goes to wrap. I imagine her body separating from her mind, her mind separating from her memories, her memories separating from her name. I think of her matter fractured and dispersed, directed where the universe, in its imperialistic expanse, requires.

I call her mom. Say, "I can't believe it's been a year" and something about how outer space makes me think of Hayley.

Her mom says, "I don't understand."



After I hang up I look at the painting. I look at Hayley's Jesus. And I think in memories, memories that may or may not have happened, I think of them in my chest--not my head. I think about mercy. I think about the infinite. And is there a place where they intersect?

A passion was awoken
That could not be tamed,
And what once was a spark
Has now left such an ugly scar

Maybe,
It's one of the love trademarks
To build up a thing
Only to watch it fall apart

So fall not
For such foolery,
Magic, these days,
Is often trickery.

Fragile as a flower,
It will softly walk in,
Persistent as a ****,
It will never leave.

There is a fine line,
Between love and madness,
You're bound to cross
If you don't keep yourself in check

As light as a wing,
It can still make your heart sink,
As tempting is its invitation
The result might still be horrendous

And the worst of all,
A deathblow,
What if the leaving stars,
Take it all?

As concrete as the ocean tides,
lasting like a kid's attention,
To fall or to take a flight,
It's your and only your choice.

She hates the city
Say street lamps
Are too cold
For marshmallows,
Too far apart
For hammocks
And a little too yellow
For stars.

She loves daisies
Especially when they're alive
And drinks sunshine
Like it's a fireball
Bottle at a bachelor party

She
Has got a body.
Like a Lego fire walk
That I can't help but
Move across
Slowly,

On the parts of her
Past that build us
Omnicolored castles
Of Kings and Queens
And treasure chests
Too small to hold anything
Outside our own imagination

And I,
Her ready loyal Knight
With nothing but
A dull promise
On the edge of my tongue
Laying my rusty faith
At her feet keep

Moving
Like my eyes
Across a line
Across a line
Across a line
That I never
Want to stop
Reading

Her edges
With my fingertips
Like the map
To my home
And her lips
The closest thing
I've got to
A key

But she
Is not the type
That needs a night
To see the stars

And I
Am not the type
To write poems
From fireflies
That I never learned
To let go

'Cause I know my life
Has seen enough jars
Of my amputated parts
To know you don't have
To be broken to be used
To picking up the pieces.

But baby break me.
Like a firefighter
With a family of four
Who knows the risks.
With your arms
'Round my fists
The only chance I've got
Of making it out alive.

So baby hold me
Like a papier mâché
Tugboat from articles
Of my past that I no longer
Want to pull.

And my plaster heart
Heavy,
Ready to be made
Into something new

With my hands full of skipping stones
I no longer have the stomach read
'Cause I don't wanna leave her life
Without being buried somewhere beneath.
But I don't wanna dig too deep
Before I figure out just how to breathe.

So every time she leaves,

I wear my teeth
On her scent
Ribs bent
In the direction
Of her return.

For the first time
In a long while
I've got a fire in me.
And this time,

I'm gonna let it burn.

You see,
It's easy for me
To get lost in the
wildness of the moment,
To stop to see
Rainbow in a dew drop
Or to sway away
On the notes of the bluest songs.

You see,
It's easy for me
To see through the little things
And go deaf
To a heart thud only for me
But you must understand
What I believe
Every machine has to fail or break

You see,
It's easy for me
To be so selflessly selfish
There is always an orphaned kid
With a broken smile
Or a birthday wish for the dead
In order to make them
Feel alive

You see,
It's easy for me
To believe
Everything I touch
Will surely leave
Oh, such ironies
I wanted
You to stay so bad that
I guess I made you leave

Can you feel it
The venom flowing in
Your blood
It's darker than
The darkest shade of nights,
You have seen.

Can you feel it
The guilt infiltrating your thoughts
Faster than
The snow dissipating
on a child's palm

Can you feel it,
A feeling of hopelessness
Taking over
Like a nausea
You could not fight

Can you feel yourself dying
A little more inside
And becoming the monster
Your mother always
Warned you about?