Through this dark dread
I will glide like the devil’s tail
beating my mark on every
hope and innocence.
When the rain falls I will be
without humble hands to receive,
I will have lost
my one good gift in life.
I will clock the years
as one who feeds
on the thinning muscle of memory.
And in bed, curled against an indifferent wall,
my mind will turn toward
a new myth
to encapsulate my joy.
I will grow old
like love does, like children do,
like the sparrow will
who rejoices despite a heavy snow. I will be without
your hand to hold and forever
my heart will know no other.
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