#24

How is she still breathing?

She never knew she could without him

on this earth, beside her or away from her, 

but somewhere, breathing. 

Having been told that only birth and death are a guarantee

She looks around and can name one more, the deepest sorrow

of losing one's person, other half, touchstone, reason, heart.

In the wailing of grief, it is hard to remember

that all are connected to you, have gone
through this, in a way
How is it possible that all the people walk around

so screamingly torn apart so they no longer 

occupy three dimensions, and yet they walk.

All those she thanks who have come before her,

each one sent up this cracking, tearing, hollow,

explosion through the entirety of someone,

or many someones. Each left a hollow hole forgotten

as now she feels the wisdom of what's really left behind

over time, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders,

whispering in her ear, even as she never gets up again

in this moment.

The giant gray moth, who whipped his wings
around him in a fan dance before dive-bombing
into soft things all around, dove into his last light tonight,
the candle on the ancestor altar por la Virgencita.