he did not break in the obvious way

no splintered snap, a branch bent too far

no fissured crack, a stone’s hidden fault

he withdrew himself

a quiet subtle piecemeal going

as if hoping no one would notice

as if he himself did not want to know

holes appeared in the small fabrics of town

that once would have been patched before anyone saw

his kindness and care had been such threads

all the community felt his loss

though they knew not that they mourned

the fire sped through with efficient speed

taking everything in its hot maw

leaving the only fallen bricks of the wall

and this on the ashy floor beneath a dirty boot print

a black and white photograph, torn at one edge

taken of the house just after it was built

empty yet of anything but anticipation for years ahead

constructed by a frame of dreams and hopes

those laid waste and now in charred ruin

though the scent of burnt memories still hung in the air

as I picked it up, I silently asked it

did you know somehow what lay ahead

I was never to his war

bloodied land, rubbled homes, shrieking wounded

but he brought it home to me upon my doorstep

the ugly desperation of those who returned

so haunted by not dying that death trailed them

whispering constantly names of the killed

it’s only the wind I told him again and again

he could not hear me through the endless moan

until one night I learned how heavy a gun can be

when you remove it from a limp hand

how futile comfort offered seemed

against the stark reality of a bullet casing

I never heard the shot

how do I say he lived, when he never left the fight?

I would give up this heart these bones

such broken fractured things

stitched together with fraying thread

strung with tiny bits of pearl

mending a constant futile task

the hour short as night falls fast

and I am wearied beyond my words

when I travel the rough paved roads

ones faced by metal doors and delivery docks

I no longer stumble on the broken curbsides

my gait undone by my broken heart

once I grieved on those back corners

cried in the rain so no one saw my tears

unexpected strangers shared my burden

let their hearts break open with mine

these exchanges proving prior connection

subterranean tug and flow of outpoured love

drew away selfish cold isolation

ceaseless buffet of harsh afflictions

now I carry in my pockets bits of sorrow

transformed by compassion’s embrace

drop them among the rocks on the street

reminders of level kinship between us

no I no you no they no we

and always the memory of her luminous smile

his gentle welcoming gaze

two oil paintings with a familiar signature

the artist a familial friend

now they rest in a stranger’s garage

thrown carelessly against some boxes

to him they mean nothing

to me they are so much more

warm salty air and a peculiar swampy fug

a studio perched on the edge of a gulf bluff

the path overhung by mossy cypress trees

a refuge offering magic to a hungry child

if I hold those paintings in my hands

the hurricane will finally hit

the house in which I spent my youth

torn to ruins in the howling storm

everything that I remembered gone

my mother herself now dead

I learned in childhood early on

how to survive such wind and rain

stand in the eye matching its eerie calm

I have no qualms about doing so again

grief runs through me

like clouds in this October sky

heavy and dark with threat of tearfall

pushed between horizons by a chilling wind

consolation also flows

swifter than my heart could recall

I have walked these parched fields before

and know the value of rain

in the end I will thank you for this disruption

useful reminder that faces ever change

and past love can mean nothing except impediment

something to be buried for your convenience

and fake affection can be tried as a clumsy bludgeon

ineptly seeking my blind consent

had you known me at all, this would have been different

my death will not be your force majeure