Peace, end of the night. No prayers said, just thoughts
of work, coffee, time spent alone. No sound
of distress can be heard. Tense, overwrought
with anxiety, the darkness yields dawn.
I can feel your beard against my shoulder.
A foreign emotion, less than human,
more the rift of family strangeness and
the loss of connection and fellowship.
What did I think would bind us at this point?
I have names, money, jewelry, prayers, drawn
to me like stocks. I could shake, weep, annoint
you with balm or salve and remain unheard.
You sleep somewhere with my only child, lone
testament to the womb and the ocean.
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