Rough field

Water galloping sea horse (sorrow) finally found
a coral reef of
grief to float within.
Tears taste like the concentrated ocean.

I called his phone; it’s in a crashed car
but still working 8 days (chanukah starts tomorrow) later . . .
I just wanted to hear his voice
because he’s silenced, and now even his eyes
are laid over with a strip of gauze.

Are others as weepful as I —
I can’t know, for I am not measuring this
except for hours.
Volume can not be counted,
and if they told me they took 4 or 40 liters of fluid from
you, I would believe it.

I lost my cousin a year ago, and an uncle this summer,
and then a friend to-more-be this summer in the desert.

2014 is not doing well.
Bird friends died;
the cat is irritating and lives on.

I got to talk to your brother more than
since ever then and 20 years ago.
So, a few good things, deep, good things —
but this price is not fair.

Not until you can talk and complain,
walk and feel pain (sorry),
I won’t be happy to be again.