the tower (ashes)

I am waking up again to the sound 
of silences remaining in the stead 
of your arriving to abate me what 
is left now you are gone– I could 

weigh the presences I’m mourning 
and place against the flesh that is 
protesting at the length of days a 
talisman accounting for the pain; 

for shame am I thus leaning on the 
door I find here shut against my 
longing for the echo down the hall 
of a happy, hounding countenance;

like dogs I count my dreams five 
cents apiece to carry to the store
and trade for candy stale enough
to warrant all it takes to bite. 

Am I to be the living while beheld 
by eyes I can only here imagine–? 
in the days since we’ve left burning 
at the foot of all the stones my dawn 

must rest upon as if the rushes 
in the water greet the red-winged 
blackbird but cannot despite your 
welcome weave unto a fibre I 

here lay before the sun– to draw 
out in its supplication brick does 
not abide but without can become 
strong enough to bear the weight 

I grant to what I know has 
happened, here– if what desired 
demands from life the sanctity 
of sparing us from loss, what 

now the lesser being who finds 
his body undesired thus, but 
still their lot? 

Instill the pain of loneliness 
with the value of what’s lost, 
but ask yourself to question 
pain from holding all you’ve not.