When All Is Said and Loved, I Give Myself To You

A poem of giving, stars, dreams, and moments without clocks.

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Dear Death:
I’m seeing figments again.
Saint Elmo’s fire
in the rooms of silent ruin.
That dusty cradle is back, empty
whale blanket cold and moth-eaten
holds nothing but old hopes,
like empty beer bottles in my fathers
chair. Mother left the TV again
and it never stopped filling the air
waves without form, sailing.

I’m feeling winter in summer’s languid guise
as nostalgia falls from lightning bolt skies.
Doors closed yet never locked, I’m feeling
Her hands through my hair, but she’s been
gone for years now. No letters,
No “I miss you,” just silence.
Take me, oh angel, take me before
the dreams rip me awake.
I have a lot of life to give, yet I’m still
in the hours of my delusional yearning.