i rise to the surface of the water,
stopping just before crossing the line between water and world,
as if to break through the threshold
is some sacred thing
and i am unworthy
of air, of life, of what floats above me,
just out of my reach.
i gasp.
water fills my lungs,
but the burn is familiar
like the ache of wanting and not wanting,
even knowing it will hurt me.
today, tomorrow, and forever,
until forever is no more.

of all of the things she taught me,
by silence that left us numb;
some women are gods
and some gods are mortal.

no true love ends at death,
and no myriad of goodbyes can lighten the load carried by the weary - who’ve loved the lovers that left without one