Death is an odd number.
I have multiplied an even temper,
an even heart, an even playing field,
two parents, two major traumatic events,
four major moves, eight stages to a break down
twelve stages to a recovery four times.
I have mulitiplied tens of girlfriends
and hundreds of friends, all with even little
zeroes sitting at the end of their quantities and
qualities
And all I get is 7, 25, 57, 143, 1, 1777, 945, and 3.
And no love can exist if not divisible by 2,
so I imagine Death is
just the absence of love.

I feel cold now.

There is a small tree which I used to pray under.
I would pray for my mother, my sister, my dog,
My old army men as they stood frozen in war and watched
the horrors of Vietnam in blank perpetuity.
I would say prayers for my grandmother who
collected clocks to remind her that time was still going forward.
I would say a small prayer for the kid in my class who
wasn't a kid at all, at least not to the fingers prodding *** and ***-
like feelings in and through minds less than the more they could become.
I would say prayers for everyone--

Except for you.

Every time I say goodbye
I don't mean it much.
I will be bookends and you
will be a hat rack and people
will use our memories to sell
cars. There will be suits
hand-woven from our handshakes
and I won't cry even a little at
the soundtrack by the fountain
when your lips get fuller and your
eyes take on planets.

I will just say the words and
remember that when they
refashion me for proper use
you will be holding a businessman's hat.