On Loss

I

Like cracked glass my tears fall

Heavy as the teeth against my cheeks, enamel chipped

On the anvil of my fears I may not see you again

II

These tawny dunes soak up

The physicality of my time

As my dust-hand wisps towards her

III

Your hands and teeth and nails and tongue may dry and split

But you will always be ready to take a trip to Wakulla in my mind

IV

The dying chemicals of a photograph fade slowly to a blurry mess

Then the memory of the film itself severs from our consciousness

Leaving an empty artifact with no Rosetta Stone

V

My tears fall still like shattered glass

From the recesses of my fears against the anvil of my loss

Like cold water on hot glass they crack again

VI

The oxygen tank clanging against your hospital bed

Like some medieval death knell as they wheel you

Down the hall, it is the only sound I hear