14 April 2010

Infractus

We are borne of the right moment
to be frail, a somebody, a nobody.
We are the loved.

Regardless of where you are, I am here.
This is the grief of the unexpected.
Love breathes between synapses,

in moments leading up to memory.
You said that your cancer was gone,
eaten by light rays and chemicals,

and yet I am here, the dirty cell, unbroken,
the organism only moved to love, to divide
contrasts, moments leading up to memory.

We are the loved. We are the beautiful,
created from dust, from each other,
from the war between nerve endings.

I am hopeful that the chemistry of wisdom
leads not to apathy, but to the moments
leading up to your memory, your front door,

my hands holding flowers, colors
sharp and pretty, just for you. You
cannot know you are this loved.

You are so frail, a nobody, a somebody,
a perfect cell, cradled in Time's perfect brow.
You are the loved.


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