it drifts down
dolomites of death
hanging over our heads, as grief
drips, drips from our heart

it breathes in cave air
punctuated with shadows

light streams in
my lips
an open sore
a gap of time
with no tales

Where to go?

breath

alone, and along the way
I pause to say …

but you are not there

within those corridors
along lonely halls
wandering
stumbling past triggers

you are not
here
holding my hand
once again

as I held yours
we watched geese mating
instead

sitting there
exposed
in that blue gown
thinking
this is not how
its suppose
to be

even if I can not see
he took advantage of me