a million months ago
she died and kicked me in the
solar plexus kicking off
a twister twisting my
body and limbs and face into an
eightball of grief
that rolled off, automaton, spinned me
into a black whole
until I caved in. unknowing.
I collapsed into nothing-at-all.
my aching arms heaving me
out now. hello world.
the chemistry of love is
the chemistry of grief is
the nullity of chemistry.
implosion. end. explosion.
world. outward.
you jumped in the river
and joined me, you
sailed the house with me through stormy rapids
the bracken waters of the desert
navigated the maze of the jungle canals
plunged headlong down the falls of darkness
till all was upside down and shattered to pieces
and I but a car-wreck
I have crossed the river
so here I lie panting next to you.
the pain is over,
the far bank of the river is the far bank now:
I can see the hole where the foundation was.
I loved her.
our three sweet daughters, so much alike,
have moored the house to the river bank:
let’s tow it up on dry land,
let’s build the new foundations.
I am ready.
but right now, I am panting with exhaustion.
let me look at you.
good morning, my love.
