Sunday, July 21, 2013

July

July.
The middle of life opening, 
for most
Is when he had to go.

His bad days became always
And what it meant changed
From sadness and stress
To death.

A body rejecting itself
Phlegm and mucus,
Drowning in fluid,
Never ending nausea and pain.

For a moment he stayed
Only to say
Of all the things he'd accomplished
We were the best.

And then he left.

First to sleep hours away,
Waking angry that we didn't wake him to say, 
"not yet -
There's still life to live!"
 
But what could we have said?
To wake the bones,
To take away the regret?

On the day his breath
Became rattled and ragged
I watched the sunrise.
Then went and told him
I watched it, for him -
The moment when the sunlight
Is enough to see the other side
But still the city lights shine
Bright enough.

The in-between,
He shared with me
Unknowingly.

We told him of his bravery
And grace.
We kissed his face,
And said, "we'll be ok."

This was today.

The mind I needed,
The voice that spoke to
Depths of soul and truth -
Cut through to it,
Gently, without apology.
Rests, 
finally, 
knowing
How powerful his love,
And that he's loved.