Voracious

There was never more time
than when I was 23,
bold, brash and free.
I called out to any, to all…
you will never make me fall
as I pushed back

up from the pavement.

It is faster now, time.
Being no longer 23,
with a near carbon-copy me
I chase after and hold
for a moment, to keep
her from falling.
She will, I know.
Just as she tumbles head over heels in the grass, a summersault.
She will tumble a life.
Over and over, the days
I can salve and bandage her knee,
treat the sting of a bee,
turn her ear to my voice
singing on or off key.
She will stop crying,
only momentarily

before she will be
pushing off of 23.

Third Door on the Right

"I don’t know how to pray," she said.
"For this, for you, the end."
She lay at a loss,
Her eyes polluted, steely slits.
Rice paper skin loosely holding in
Vast, venerable veins.
Their purpose fooled
Into considering one more day.
"It is Thursday,
And I have a permanent."
Then her eyes fix themselves
Upon mine, she knows.
"Keep me in mind,
Dear." I won’t forget.
And that is just like her
To hold off death intent
To have her say. Again
She knows, and then does not,
It is time. Fraught
With just enough heart
Remaining, she pulls her way
Loose from her body, barely
What it was when she was put to bed.
It is cold and blue and black and red.
For the last time,
"I don’t know how to pray,"
She said. It is alright…
I will for this, for you, the end.