It was not an angel that fell
Skittering across the surface
As a pebble from a child’s hand,
It was not science
Which suspended the track,
Heels wrestling, a saintly act
It was not gravity that held
The cracks in your memory.
–
The miserable cue
Ricocheting in a plaintive field,
I watch you flitting about
From one designation to another
Without the confidence
Of any endeavor
And a terrible fear of consolation.
–
Your open palms urge
I press them with dried flowers,
A whole monastery
Of beautiful impoverished frames.
Your love of death
Suits the state of your heart
I pour you out again and again
And just when I think
I’ve gotten to the bottom
The tears come heavier
And more potent
Than ever before.
mindlovemisery 