First Trip Back, Canonized

Once I held you

when there were no more words

only the spindly length of skin and bone, landscape

of defeated shoulders, limbs still

as an unplucked string, my own pressed

where I could imagine heat, seal some memory

of how we moved, unmoored, no longer

wanting, scarring, open palm

to empty fist, your low-hum

breath, my wincing sigh slivering

the winged darkness, vaulted air —

I forgive you.

I know.

I love you.

I know.

It’s OK.

I know.

And now, home is a changed

melody, trumpet mouth

on a disfigured dream.

Nothing to hold

but time.