wake up late. missed alarms
heavy in the back of your throat. ringing
sense of what if.
tell me of
the flight, gone. updraft circling
like a mourning bird. left behind
and forgotten.
there's an empty ache
in the snip of cold scissors. cut
hair to the floor, scatter dead tresses like
dirt over graves.
no stitching together now.
bite
the words back into your
mouth. reel them in like
a fish; dead;
gasping for water
even as it drowns in air.
time is a river
that flows ever forward. you will
look for the winding of the dial
and it will not be there.
so this is what it feels like to lose.
