Gravity Well
March 28, 2012

I get startled when I find people I’ve known have died
part of my world sundered, and I expect trained grief to flow of that recognition
can stoke it thus, and stroke to form if needed
but severance where they’ve written is so often not missing, but when
this one gone a dozen years, and this – thrice my span
each pinprick another’s howling song, precipice perfunctory
whispers of one’s self quieting flow, stepping emptying
hithering voice, joined void
flick of the eyes and on
flit of the under and worn
stars breaching skin

death holds surprise in face of living

Steal this and find not even starlight