Modern Romanticism

What threw
this hour into noon?
I am facing
long-awaited sunlight,
higher in a once-dimming sky.
You were there,
holding hands with death,
sinking to your knees,
writing sentiments
in immaculate tearstains.

I had been there,
letting breath escape
through an unlocked mouth.
Being forced to close
a door upon a retreat
back inside, back outside,
over into kind darkness.

I heard you weeping
at that fatal exit.
I could not tell
if you were crawling forward,
limping like a child
learning to walk,

but I want you to walk
far from where I will be buried.

I want you to cry
tears of sweetness,
with this sunlight
awakening at each noontide.

I want you to carry yourself
against grief’s harrowing tide.
I want you to lift yourself
to come back inside
your blessed of loving hearts,
to regain your start
back into the wilderness of life.