I will take this tragedy one line at a time.
If January 18 was an object instead of a day
it would be raw steak that's taken me years to digest.
It comes around now disguising itself
at something else but although the air
is always moving away,the ground beneath me
never leaves.
And so I know that one revolution around the sun
won't ever bereave me of your implanted seed.
The planets are holding our bodies apart at a distance.
I stare off onto the horizon. The ocean meets the sun but I
am not afraid of the unfathomable.
I used to hide from mirrors but now I am suffering because
I want to be healed.
You point your fingers at the world and try to make them pay
for something that could never be bought on the physical plane.
We all make mistakes.
Do we really?
Maybe it ought to be this way.
This is the closest I am to touching this memory.