2016: a burial

the skytrain paused, mid-air
we hovered above burnaby
i remember: the hair twist, the mirror,
abandon & how the right song could
summon it from him,
&, o, the minutes before
the homeward bus
how the last of the best
of us
could be pressed between them

three times, now, i have returned
to the bottomless mulligan
of family

my pride, an upheaval
alongside the winter roots
that blocked the garden
from the coming light

a backspace of id
and a healing over
of years, of haze,
of old growth

the slow animal will
reach furthest
once a year, this lessens
the ratio of defeat

the open door became the village,
a finding of my people
somewhere, etta james was singing

do you ever feel like the honeycomb
whose keepers only come once?
the world sidelongs your life
long enough to roll its eyes
& sigh in wonder
at the hum of you,
then departs.

lindy, this was the last time
i broke bread with you,
the last time i felt the settled glow
of my own body around my bones.








they don’t teach us
how to write about illness

so i must now guess.

it takes a lot to have a body

it takes a lot to be the lighthouse
to eye the hurricane
and outwards the light

it takes a lot to walk straight
when the fog falls

in cities that ask for proof of all wounds
it takes a lot to hurt invisibly

it takes a lot to write a eulogy
and turn it into a prayer.

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