Death strips bare

What haven’t you done yet?

Here it is.

Whom have you neglected to be?

Find them.

What do you want to say?


How do you feel?

Open. In solitary.
Notice what screams.

Do not turn from it.
Yes, there is the no more.

It’s futile to try to reform it.
This spot. Where you are.

Are you interested in the message?

It was written on the passing flesh of love.

It cannot be handed off.
So spare your barbed rage.

Nothing but mirrors around.

My hands are full and

I’m doing my own opening. Listening. Finding.
And they are here. Anyway.

If you uttered your core statement –

I fear it was not my best

– they would respond.

They passed as flesh no longer served. But they continue the conversation you both started when you were born to one another.
Hold yourself. Hold.
There is this whole lifetime

That you shared.

Why not sing that story?
They will join you.
On the radio. In a sunbeam.

The brush of a passing dog.

Frozen phone screen.

Every. Day. They remain for you to hear.
As you cower –

Lift your chest high

– in the mirror.

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