It ripples,
within merciful,
forceful
finality.
It angles,
inside asymmetrical,
distorted
sanctity.
The death,
that neither of us,
wanted to see
come to life
has dawned.
The decision
to let you leave
had been hurting
the part of us
still hoping.
I deny
what’s shifted me
into a sideways
fit of ridicule.
Could I
have stopped death,
before it,
on its ashen wings,
came aboard?
I revise
the letters
I’ve long tossed
into an ocean.
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