And There You Were

40 in the mortuary night,

    screaming into naught,

    watching pairs of rose lights

    fade and glow in sequence.

        And there you were,

cutting apart the new world —

    which was any world you found —

        to examine the parts.

          I hope you can

          build it back together again.

Morning brings mountains

    the fog hangs around.

    I wonder if verdant peaks

    enjoy the leftovers of heaven.

        And there you were

wondering of blood

    and the vessels which share your own.

Will they survive with miles

    stretched between you?

        It’s so much further

        than veins may reach.

I finally find ascension

on the road to a heaven,

which leaves clouds for Earth to clean.

        And there you were

behind the one-way mirror memory

with Joy translating all she means,

refusing to turn towards the glass,

        indifferent to the other side —

        where I belong,

        with pallid birds who crossed the street.

In the heart of Virginia,

    which learned to love so much,

    there’s a median before a crossing,

    a weed garden protected

    by a triad of guardrails,

    and the shade of deciduous trees.

    I pulled my weight to one shoulder

    and laid in the steel trinity.

I stared towards our lonely star,

    past titan blades of broomsedge

    and puzzles of maple leaves,

    which allowed broken bands of your light.

        And there you were

with white feathers of your own,

examining a true, blue heaven

which earned the best of words.

We will never know again

    the same plot of space —

    you get what you deserve;

    I’ll enjoy hiraeth

    for as long as it accepts me.

    Longing works as proof

    you had the worth having.

        Ghosts of the still animate

        master the haunt.

            Here you are, my wraith.

            Please don’t ever leave.