uneven. The ragged mesh of grief
constricts in webbing layers. Pressures crimp
and bind, directionless and blind. A steep
crevasse engulfs and swallows, rough with black
and icy bouldered walls. A grizzled foam,
pollutants heavy in its vaporing cracks,
pours in its choking mass of poisoned loam.
A time is fixed to our arrival, days
to count as child and spirit meld their breath.
But time unhinges, lost within a maze,
when soul from body's ripped in sudden death.
The time is out of joint and bent askew,
its weight outweighed in weighing days too few.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - Southside Images