phased whispers from the past tiptoe across my ear hairs
they leave small shards of broken glass in their steps
and their scar tissue doesn't echo
it hums
i bleed memory more quietly now
...
but sorrow is the leg of the human condition, no?
we limp because we are still moving
we crawl because grief taught us rhythm
we find it here once again, realizing
these words will soon retire,
retreat into the unknown
we will rent a room in the house of rest
where the windows do not open
but dreams leak in anyway
the lease is steep, still paying monthly
even in death
sorrow is a landlord you never leave
...
so if you would,
dont drop a dime on a casket
lay me bare with the earth, as i did with her
allow the dirt to kiss me softly, as she did me
let my scars sing, and watch weeds form
from the end of my wilting touches
my only hope was for them to be
more beautiful than i