How can one make January wrong
Or night? The night
Holding the deadly car
In the selfsame palm
As the innocent star of a man.
Or boiling up a sleepless winter plan
To ruin a good son’s life.
The horror too sublime to pen
I’ve lain in ink the sky
Sobbed into the farthest stars
And not tried to move them.
2015
I’m so so sorry that this bright bit of you is gone
Ohhhhh, I feel this. What a sublime expression of our sorrow.