I often feel made of grief

a container for the world’s tears

the mourning that runs wild

at the first realization of loss

I accepted this task early

designed my shell for this job

a fragile human carapace

with sharp humor for protection

and laughter threaded through

for this absurd reason I was born

for this absurd reason I did not die

for this absurd reason I exist

to mourn for a land not mine

a place I’ve never called home

with ways and customs strange

words that never fit my mouth

and not this place alone

but every place I’ve been

not ever mine but a stranger there

and somehow invited in

I grieve for the loss of welcome

the hearth’s warmth once freely shared

none of us are from here

yet we breathe common air

if we hold too fast to fences

turn all to enemies on the other side

we’ll die alone and friendless

with no one even to close our eyes

once I thought to offer you the stars

cupped in my hands so they glowed like fireflies

I saw them reflected in the glints of your eyes

I found instead I had handfuls of tears

flowing through my fingers like dirty rain

they were mine and you were gone

I flung them to the sky

streaky rivulets that obscured the lights

only briefly then dried to fall again as salt

and I remembered the waves washing against the beach

the air warmed by the summer sun

the endless blue expanse of sky

the broken thermostat the latest shooting

the radishes found forgotten in the bin

the shattered bowl the burning oceans

the mass graves discovered in a construction dig

so much too much this world this world

when all I want

is to see your face once again to rest in your smile

when a desperate hand reaches out

from underneath the rubble

when it is covered with blood

and finds only hostile air to grasp

what comfort the reason for such destruction

the dust-filled sky the awful silence

the occasional lightning strikes of grief

torn from throats raw beyond measure

what matter now the distant machinations

each of us knows the pain of loss

each of us knows the sorrow

how then do we walk away from this suffering

our own house in ruins

our own bodies wounded and broken

our own voices scraped by tears

unnoticed as dirty smoke

it crawls into the present crevices

then you begin to choke

on all the burning excuses from the past

the skeletal bones of love and the wasted lives

dug up and used as fuel

for others’ urgent desperate needs

and so the cycle continues

though this was not forecast, rain fell in the mountains

fell in such torrents that creeks became rivers

rivers turned raging and joined with the storm

all we held dear all we called ours many we loved

washed away down ridge then the ridge itself disappeared

these days seem like that time as grief hits us hard

batters us each without end in sight

the sharing of tears holds us through this dark night 

we reach for each other in the morning

nothing restores what we’re lost, no way to bring back what is gone 

but brief glimpses of love give us strength to remember

these memories a foundation for this present home

(for R, with deep affection)

I turn away from you all

curl upon myself like a leaf

that folds when consumed by fire

I watch myself burn

icy flames reducing everything to cinders

tears do no good so laugh instead

bitterness mixing with acceptance

I wonder with detached interest

where I will go when I arise

empty and empty-handed

dirty with ashy gray smears

did he stand there before that day that hour that minute that moment

wondering what the impact would bring other than an end

was it an opportunity seized without forethought

the result of some altered state overlaid upon longstanding suffering

however he came to this act it was final 

the stop to all that had come before and one that had no backing out

death by train is not even a gamble

but a surety as certain as any high jump

its whistle blast a warning this is no playtime nor rehearsal

serving also for him afterwards a long lonely sound of mourning

the only cry of recognition the only cry of grief he received