Let my eyes speak
from the wake
of the finite point of death (for there is one)
the grand crescendo of a bizarre
orchestration that ends with
talk of weather, distant relations,
calls to the funeral home,
the fiddling of a wedding band at midnight
hither-dither chit-chat, and
idle cars spuming cold exhaust.
they wrapped me up in
tubes, wires, stickers and nodes
a body marred unrecognizable
registered only by the
shake of your contorted sighs
what I wanted was your eyes
submerged in mine
entwined together in one unified breath
for your eyes would meet my battered lids
and then— momentary soaring
you, steeling upward like the waves
in a chasm, and I, pitching downward
toward earthly erasure
in this pilgrimage of consciousness
where to live is to walk with death
it is inversely proportional
a relationship defined by your eyes
exhuming life from mine.
you averted your gaze
as I walked solitarily.