I won't beg
words from you.
Not waking,
or in dreams

where love
rises
above rooftops
or the stars.

Where it is
apt to be
believed,
God borrows
most from mothers

leaving
the cloud tattered
remnants
of their death
bloomed hearts.

Nothing Left

Nothing Left To Tell You


His death stood between us like a growling dog.
Accusing, disbelieving. Dug in deep for settling scores
so far removed neither of us could remember one.
I wanted to say “It’s really all gone” as a question.

To say, for all your goodly sums, my careful spells
and long love he repelled too far out away from us,
breaking his rope anyway.

I wanted to say thank you. For him.
Brought in a time of goodness. A goodness brought that boy.

But I could only look at you, for the last time.
The goodbye already burst free and flown from my heart.
The profanity of his death cut deep into my soul.

So I turned away, small and heavy.
With the only thing left. Carrying away with me all the words
we will never again have between us.

My dear Beloved you are dead.
Dead on some distant star.
Me, I am dead here, below the earth.
We will not meet between the two.

Was it only yesterday I received the spear
draining you from me?
As if you had never burned in my bones?
Have you passed through me just a ghost?

There are no tombs of Kings.
Only men in the end. Only men
and boys scarcley born; authors
of great dreams trembling when they sleep.
Oh, it is so brief. Here in the earth.