Wednesday, July 20, 2011



once upon a time:

her love for him
was as clear and calm
as a glass of water

the echo of time
was another story—
a shattering and a quake

the half-life of her love
for him was forgetting

things happened, of course—
or things were done
with no scar of intent

but things done cut
as deep as things intended
bleeding out all the life

the half-life of his love
for her was remembering

then things were said—
spoken and written and implied—
like uranium hidden in a shoe

after the end that lingered—
silent and radioactive—
in the bones of his hope

the half-life of suffering and loss
is always and never

he wore his face then—
the one they all wanted to see—
like a lead apron

though his bones glow
in the darkness of his belief
regardless and forever

as he told her
as he told her

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