your death and therefore mine
are real in pictures from
that Spring.

a patchy pale skull is not really
”fuzzy”
and I miss the eyebrows more
in the remembering.

your arms are filled with our
baby boy’s
fleshy radiant potential
such stark contrast in rearview.

I kept out your pain
with a wall
of new dad
and charming dutiful service
that looked so good
to the rest of the world.

you were alone.
you were so alone.