Tuesday, March 3, 2009

poem, for J:

To lose you, the fine-tuned boy
I used to know
would be like the French losing
the solid gold inch
that is kept for all time
as the standard measure,
the very basis of all
normalcy, regularity.

To lose you, my strong scion,
would be like losing
the stuff of me that
still remains: uterus,
right ovary, heart, breasts
all filled with mother's

To lose you, proud elk,
straight and true as any
of G-d's trees,
would be like losing
a pulse, a steady
beating continually
the rhythms
of whatever life
is left.

To lose you - dear Lord - to lose him
would be to press Your fingers
upon my lids forever.


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