Wish you were here.

February 12, 2007

They wouldn’t tell us how
though we asked,
and asked, and asked.

They kept the knowledge in them
and words too barbed to breathe,
could only settle into silence-

nearly glimpsed beneath an eyelash
a look away, but only then a guess
at how a set of waves could stop.

In the end,
that you were dead,
was all we had to know. A train,

a knife, those pills. Just hollow wraiths
inside the hole
you perforated in your landscape.

The landscape we were part of.
The hole
we’d always have to walk around.

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