The Moment III

the awful moment 
when breath stops and 
time runs out - the 
grains of sand 
gritty throat, the 
body stilled the 
blood congealing 
and the palm will not 
move, the voice 
lost in the quiet air

and left behind 
all the love, all the 
care, the inarticulate 
pain pulsing and 
crying as if it were 
a voice

the endless moment 
of guilt and 
unquiet, of things 
unsaid, undone, 
and other lives run 
on and on 
leaving behind the 
one gone on ahead

the awful moment 
of loss and silence 
gaping, the endless 
endless depth and 
width and height 
of wound

the awful moment 
that stopped 
and breath 
petered soft 
and the blood left 
seeping from the 
cut in the 
palm

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