I’m welling up at the worst times:
years of scales falling off my eyes.
Someone I love
said they didn’t believe any more.
Another two or three or ten
gone to glory, adding to the cloud
of witnesses, pressing on me.
“Go up and join this chariot,” over and over.
Sometimes I’m tired of running, sometimes
their lips aren’t moving when I get there,
sometimes it’s fireworks, but never
according to the way I ran.
Begun March 2019 and found in drafts in this strangely neglected blog
Photo by Paul Summers on Unsplash
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