When times of obligation force me to walk through the cemetery of past experiences, here is what I pray to him- or to her... Tense, civil, and curious, all of us mortified by our childhood responses. Our lanky shadows in cutout hearts, pasted with wild sincerity, passionate brooding, and thrown in the bin long ago. We stand around the dutifully mourned, lowering one more witness through the ground.

And with a quiet "Amen", skulk our different ways.
___________________

I trust you are well
and all the Hells
that stood and fell
as we fought back the night
have kept their distance,
drawn in my wake as I took my leave,
grieving what might have been
and was, for a season,
a reason to dream of more than dust.