Almost , love

you feel
like the first breath
of autumn
inside my circulatory system,
like drops of poetry
scattered on the naked grass
for all to see and hear
(but few will take poetry home
and romance her,
though they might dance
and flirt for a night or two)
do you remember,
how i told you once
that music is like
lifting your hand to god's wrist
and feeling a pulse?
what happens when god
flatlines on the table
and we cannot hear the music
anymore,
and we are left to dance to
something like
true silence,
true absence of sound,
nothing will color our memories
except the quiet
and the only noise in our house
will be the rasping of air
through your tattered lungs,
the shuffling of my crooked
feet
across the wooden floor
and those will make a music,
too
in their way,
but can you dance to it?"

you sang such a sad song by
charlie estin (via
dandelionsinjune)