She Was

She was, at once, without her breath
slipping from the place that makes
you cry and remember,

she had a moment of clarity not
to be shared or discovered by
anthropologists of future races.

The flood she felt was fast, leaving
her head to fill her feet to
feed the thorns of roses,

she loved you that moment when
one eye focused enough to
discern a shape from apple and
flowers and water glass with straw and a
yellow jug of something to be throw out.

I have a thought that
mingles from time to moment to
time and back again in a
fog over blue ice yellowed;

a cold thought haunting
and careful not to reveal itself to
me before I am ready.

I’d tell you she
loved me too, I know, love
comes in whispers, in the moments
before the silence. It can gently grasp for
one more hug of sorrow.

I wish to keep
me from my moment of
clarity, and the place that
makes you cry.