no loss spoken

From 2015, I think? 

I thought I forgot how to love him but it's all magnified.
The grey. Burnt embers. The moon makes us ashen.
Can we find water?

I don't remember singing.
It's always this way after a panic.
That heavy ache where my leg is supposed to be.

Stillness like funerals.
Here is the smallest moth, white stardust shimmering in rainlight.
Single soprano over violin and piano.

The spot of light in deepest chasm. 
Eyes meet.
A letter passed between them in secret.

This is my chance. 
Side by side this togetherness a community a village of song.
Before today, there was no thought of loss.

​​At least, no loss spoken. 

...the smallest moth, white stardust shimmering in rainlight. Photo by Mikkel Frimer-Rasmussen on Unsplash.