If not death what could
spring roses from your
palm, if not my
departure what could
lift your eyes from
screen to mine.
If not change what could
erode at this Jericho of a friendship.
There was a time when I wanted to heal,
when I wanted to be better, when I
wanted to pull the splinter from my heel.
Now, faith lost rug pulled from under, hope
rushing to the exit of a decomposing me,
I stand breathless and out of reach.
— The End —