It feels like years. It feels like yesterday.The loss. So close I smell its frantic breath
Against my face, and yet so far away
It looks like rubbed-out chalk, and not a death.
Sometimes grief beats on me like I’m his drum;
Sometimes I ache as if it just took place—
And then, a moment later, I grow numb
And it’s light years away in outer space.
Like a black hole, Death too has gravity:
It weighs Time down into an endless crawl,
Then speeds it up, and crams eternity
Into an instant’s shell—and through it all
Time avalanches as it drips like tears.
It feels like yesterday. It feels like years.
Copyright 2013 Matthew J Wells