Your wild grief scares me
It flows from you like
so many liquids
and pours hard and fast.
I intrude on it,
like stepping in milk that isn’t mine and
treading it into your carpet.
Back and forth I trudge.
Like a great beast
in the final throws of death.
That great gold spear that
pierces your lungs and
up it comes.
All that bile and froth that was hidden.
You are no longer who you were.
And I, unable to reach out with my hands
and take your shoulders and calm you
with all that mass of hair
so tangled and forlorn,
slink away to nurse my own.
It is quiet and faint and
will always dwell
deep in my heart.
Source: Agitation of Hands
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