They glow,
Like indigestion
In the pit of the belly
Perforating coals of
After
Thoughts,
Just like this jagged
Piece of you
Smelling like
Last night’s bon fire
Still on my shirt
Torn out like a page
In your story
Briefly reminiscent
Of something bigger
That the world
Should like to hear
Fading now
Like broth in the stew,
None of your shape
Still there is a likeness
Of you in every
Sip of air
So I breathe
As echo

The rain
Has pressed
Upon my arms
And chilled these bones
To shaking with the
Hoary breaths
Of resignation
Always returning
To these embers
Hoping for
The flame
That once
Held in the warmth
Like bed time prayers,
But, I should move along
From these frost covered
Stones.


I should not question
The way of mortality
Or the paths it
Excavates
Through my meadows
But this vigil
By your embers
Is my small protest
Of endings
The inordinate rudeness
Of it’s tone
And the barbaric
Wailing
In its execution
Perhaps,
It is also
The only dirge
I can sing
When my voice
Has been
Strained by the fear
Of being forgotten.