the warmth

her eyes- gutted

not sure where

the mascara starts

and the river ends.

pale white

numb skin

peaks through

an all black veil.

petrified-

what do i say-

what could i-

all the joyous stories

songs i’ve sung

happy credits,

void.

a lie.

what could i say-

to silence a screaming wraith

to unbury the dead

like a cleaning a fire

with a broom.

stuttering approach

steps fall deaf

on her sobbing ears-

her palms sit vacant

lowered in her lap-

a bucket.

icy damp palms,

–

i’ll hold her hand,

if she’ll let me-

the warmth-

it’s all

i have