Mar 092021

For him there is
No music
No fire
No anguish
Just the dullness of wooden thunder
Blankness of recognition
His skin is withered and shriveled
Crackling like frail tissue paper
The room lit with moving images
Like flashing strobe lights
There’s no space
Where the past and future come together
The endless loop is broken
The pallor of decay
Has touched the bony hands
The emaciated frame
She said nothing for a time,
Just ran her fingers along the edge
Of the human shaped hollowness that was him
But what was there to say except
Only that quietness and emptiness
Fitted together like stacked spoons
And then
He took her hand
And kissed it