It’s not a good and gentle start
to wake beneath the light,
with tears that never touch your cheek—
they vanish out of sight.

It seemed far easier to hide
than question why you cried,
why even opening your eyes
felt like the world had died.

You made me feel the heaviest of all matter
that space has ever known,
when you said, “I am dying,” and
you said it all alone.

I couldn’t let my own storm swell—
to add more to your pain.
Of all the words I stitched with care,
“Just listen” still remained.

There aren’t enough old trees to hold
the names carved deep in you—
the ones who stole your brightest parts,
and left your skies deep so blue.

I longed to speak the perfect phrase,
not something cold or small—
but softer than, “just jazz will help,”
or silence, most of all.

I couldn’t lift the stars you bear
or smooth the scars they drew.
But I can guard your flickering light
and sit and burn with you.

I won’t lose one more light tonight—
not while you’re in my care.
If there’s a way to make you stay,
just say my name—and I’ll be there.