The weight of her moment
drowns the help in me.
It moves across my skin
like a wind
that presses me flat
that strips the leaves
that dries my tears
and dumps the dirt
of distant places
on my doorstep.
Even the drying paint
has lifted away,
and what remains
is old but true.
She does not know me, but
the hurt
the bruised heart
the thing that holds
and molds our grief
from shared clay
is fired now and brittle.
There is nothing
that she might say
that could surprise
that could alter
what we know
and share
and strive to leave
and anywhere else
but in our beaten hearts.
Our parts play out
in measured silences
in sideways glances
in sudden knowing
that sharing isolation
must always be
our comfort and
our world.
But if I could,
if my wishes
were my thoughts made real,
the song that pealed
the skin upon that wind
would make us one
forever.
A Wind
This poem was written as a tribute to the talent of Ms. Lili Reinhart, a young actress whose cameo at the conclusion of the rather somber movie “Galveston”, touched me deeply. Somehow she managed to portray a raw, honest mixture of hope and grief that is rarely capable in person, let alone in the company of an audience.
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