As if the flowers bloomed all night.
As if you were walking here in this wood.
As if your hand touched me free
and you cleaned the mess from
our child's face only to wipe again.
It's year's now,
but when I danced the other night
my feet could not move.
My mouth could not smile at her
and how I tried, yes, how I tried
to make it lift again.
Deft disease. Slow release.
I could have watched you there
hairless and weak and wanting
to dance with me again.
I could have watched that image
eternally. And how I do,
how I do.