cancer has turned you into
an infant. but one that is finally
happy to see me. three seconds of
joy, then,
the morphine eats your next words
you are not you,
but still somehow are. a you
without edges. i hand you a small
turtle I made out of clay and
(here, tears), this is the first time
in my whole life I bear witness
to your utter delight and how is it possible
to be so devastated and so grateful
in the same instant?
where a man was, spirit now is
this you without edges, confused,
delighted, at peace, in anguish,
a child, a man, gone and present,
dying, dead, radiantly alive.
i whisper to you lovely things
in hopes you might hear them later
when you are all light and wise
and you remember who you are,
and I’m you and you’re me and
we’re unbridled ether reaching
out of the depths of the most
perfect love.