How to meet the many hands of loss

You’ve met before. Done

battle. Burst flares

in cold air. Twined cries

through trumpet flower

vines. Touched their throats

open until they gave up

scent. Paid tithes through

keyholes, sprung hinges

from their bonds. You’ve

tendered your surrender

over and over. You’ve

bowed beneath their

blades. Because of this,

weeds are a mercy

as well as the gutter

awash in rain. What you

no longer have

can’t be taken.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Vigil.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.