Rivers rounding stones, your memory barbing my eyes, the last moment
at the hospital clinging to air
beaded with monsoon rain at the windows
your breath like prints fading
the mist of you alive.
Sunny-side-up-years glistening on us.
Togetherness is so fragile. For dinner
I eat scrambled nights shoving them around
the plate of solitude. Good you’ll never know
hunger now. At the mountain retreat last month they taught me to let go.
Don’t destroy your body, they said. I dropped my gaze to my knuckles
felt the icy wind’s rasping ire. Don’t I know how short patience is with grief?
My flight back home in a rain drenched craft, bobbing and heaving
like months of the year, finally landing into
a golden afternoon. The weight on my face
responding to light. Fleeing like everything
I’d ever held. Grief, a pleasant friend
sheepish for always knocking.
Which of my bones lets it in?