I Think We Understand Death

Almost everything worth listening to
Died with The British Invasion.
You are not one of those things.

I think we understand death
In the same way that good children do,
In the same way that cathedral bells sound
On Sunday mornings
When no one pretends not to listen.

Your arms are like chandeliers, and
I am standing watch.
You will not break here.
You will not study the cracks of sidewalks.
You will not let gravity guide the direction of your heart.

Dear You,
Look up at me,
I want to tell you,
“You are sacred.”

You are why stars form in the patterns of lovers.
You are why Cupid fires and never misses.
You are why.

It is so strange to think we are born, and
There is this someone else somewhere
Just waiting for you to find them.
“Why did you take so long?”

There is sunlight dripping across
The pillow where you dream.
I wish I could be wherever it is you are
With you.

What is it about all of this that is making me feel
Like there has been no one or no thing before you?

If God is looking down right now,
I think His cue cards must say something like,
“You deserve it, kid!”, and
I think He is right.

I think it’s good to think.
I think there should be an international day of mourning
For all of those folks who will never know how it feels to be
This close to you.
I think you should make records just so I can hear your voice
When you are away from my ears.
I think we should spend Tuesday afternoons dancing our guts out
Just so Saturday does not think it has the market cornered.

You are sleeping in the soft shape
Of an Elliot Smith song, and
I want to tell you that I have missed your face.

“I have missed your face.”

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Tags: Love, Poetry, Writing