Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

your chest so tight
threatening
to crush the ribs within
to silence
the heart cried raw
that reminds you
what you've lost

melancholy
has this
terrible accuracy
when it anchors down
right where
you needed security
the most

the tangible enormity
of your absence
is unsettling
especially considering
you were
never here at all

Would you please let me
dry my fingers on
your thighs as you undress
me in the bathroom where
I used to faint on
the sound of steam fogging
up my reflection —
my vision?

You are here now,
running tears down my chest
and it is harder to
breathe with one lung for
the other is being held
by your lips,
breathing me in.

I promise I wouldn’t tell
a soul of your run-away
bones; but only
if you’d let me wilt in
your lap and bathe me
with your wet face
and rent me for a night-in
with my arms and
my arms only.

Moons ago I smoked till the filter,
Drank Johnny’s backwash
And slept hungry.
How can you know an empty stomach,
Without dancing in Tampa for a buck fifty?
What’s for breakfast?
“cowboy killers.”
lunch I asked,
“Kentucky deluxe.”
Dinner?
“A bent Porto Rican kitten.”
But people are seasons
And springtime had come.
Now it’s easy, but still stiff.
In the end of the day.
ehh.

do to me
what
summer does
to flowers

make me
blush and
bloom to
the nature
trapped
beneath
your fingertips