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Breath was easy.
The slow in out of it
Comfort
Knowing everything was out of my control.
Departures were meant for airports, for sidewalks
Hands tossed over turned shoulders because
leavings were temporary states of goodbye—
Not worthy of tears or efforts to compress
wayward movement of hand or arch of eyebrow
Or soft curve of face
To store away for later.
Breath is hard,
Conscious of each in out of it
waiting
knowing everything in an instant will be, can be,
what it could never be again.
Your soul,
honoring me with its presence
deep,
where nothing but me,
my voice,
could have reached you.
How could I have known that cruelty touches even gifts
that breath slow,
in
out
That departures mean more than
I, you, could have guessed
I leave the light on where you were created
to illuminate corners that fill with dust.
It warms books you'll never read;
Slays moths you will not set free.
Breath is hard
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