Somethings are easier to explain than most.
But what gets me is that everyone fails to mention what happens to the moth after the flame is extinguished.
The sorrow that escapes through the air as black smoke.
The burning smell of a wick sweltering in the remains of liquid wax.
Soon to harden as if nothing has happened.
And the moth, forever left with it's essence
Soon left alone, blinded.
Not knowing which way to go

HOW MANY MILES. .?

I try to
get back to

the you
before you

died.

You flicker
in the candlelight.

I am trying to
not let the forgetting

happen
to you

but you begin to
fade and falter.

You tell me to let you
...go...

That it will be easier
for me.

But I would rather own
the pain of this love.

Hold you all the tighter.

Smuggle you in a dream
across death's border.

You are beyond Babylon
...the many miles to...

The childhood rhyme
I told you.

"Can I get there by candle light..?"
I ask the dark.

"...there and back again..."
the emptiness echoes.

Each night I fetch
your ghost

feeding it my pain
to keep you here again

only to have to
return you

when morning brings a new day
you can never know.

my daughter bought me one
of those extensions for my cellphone--to take selfies
so I wouldn't forget who I was--as if looking at a "me"
in the face of my phone would remind me
I am John Smith, I am 73

and I had been an engineer
at a missile range for a 45 years and two months
that I had lost a finger in Vietnam and my wife
died in a automobile accident three years ago
and her name was Emma

but my daughter says I never,
not once called her mother anything
but "M" and now, whenever I read,
hear, say or write the letter M
I get a lump in my throat

my daughter has notes taped
on every surface of my house, reminding
me to eat, and take my meds--she placed
a big one on the door: DON'T GO OUTSIDE
but I wouldn't anyway

I like it here, where I think
I have been a long time, and it is filled
with things my daughter calls memories
and photos of a lady I don't recognize
with a sticky note on each one

the notes are all yellow and have
an "M" on them; I get that lump in my throat
when I see them, and sometimes water comes
from my eyes, though I don't know why
because Emma didn't look like that

I'm about to have a baby at 36 weeks
My wife is the only person I have to talk to.
My only support structure needs my support.
My rock is my son but he can't speak words yet.
My family seems preoccupied. Even during times like this.
I have friends... Oh wait... Where?
The first time was so stressful because we weren't sure what would happen.
Now we are just unprepared...
There's emotional support but everyone stops short of actually helping. Sad but true.
Meeting my daughter was supposed to be different.
I'm just upset I couldn't make it perfect for her.

Waiting for the light
to shine through.
The cracks of broken glass
I've become accustomed to living in.

I'm not really sure how to feel Anymore.
Like screaming help in a room full of deaf people. This is starting to feel hopeless.