All Tomorrows

  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.