The Loss, the Gain of the World

For the end I will be gone.

I will be a sea away,

I must move to remember

the world, but the return—

It comes after you depart.

Before me are pastures,

Highlands, the sea.

But as I feel their tufts

of green, you drift from me—

comrades, partners, family.

Not even a hurricane

Could carry your voice

To me, mine to you.

My timing a premature

baby, life occurring too early.

When is the right day?

How do you choose

The hour for farewells,

For embracing?

We will be a pile of mattresses

That final night.

Sentimentality is powerful,

Creeping on us like

Alabama’s surprise winter

After months of hellfire heat.

It has already entered.

It is the hushed pet

Running into our legs

And on our chest at night.

It is something to swat away.

But the dull longing,

The mornings without you

Next door, the ache to be

a child fully known—that pain,

I will feel it fully after this.

I know.

Yet, there is time;

That cursed man-made thing.

Hours to stay up,

Moments to be teary,

Parties to linger

At the door before I pass through it.