#629 - the gone

 

22.ix.22

629

2.264

the gone

(and we are dead to them)

held something under their breath

 

they carried it like a tune

like a stone

 

forms they played for real

 

they carried with them every forever

you wouldn’t believe it now

 

the gone held something

under their breath

 

simple statement of fact

a blessing could be a curse

 

we the wicked infant, wild

run off like fire

 

they, the gone

carried us  

carried us in their lost hearts

 

we never met

won’t meet again

 

the gone held something

under their breath

 

words now equally away

 

as if

first light and breeze

the body to touch

 

winged chase

of the day took off

 

as winter cloth

through many hands

 

the gone

hauled it about 

for the burden we are

 

when the closest to you go

all gather

feel them looking in

 

when we are nowhere

and not at all

 

I’m woken with these words

so know that they are mine

 

the worry of a truth was theirs

I often wake this way