An Old Grief
I dance around the shape of loss,
these empty cups, these brittle bones;
sadness seeps into places I can’t name.
What is it when grief becomes
a slide across the sun, a scrim
so thick, the light diffuses,
footsteps down some other
hallway? What is the sound
when it’s all been said, when
there’s no more time for saying,
and life carries you like a little boat,
purposeful and aimless as a leaf?