I.

I tried to catch up to you;
Before the fog made you a phantasm.
But I was out of breath.
I realize my bones are getting old
When it’s raining out
And I fear the drops
As much as the wet
If you are the slickness
That lubricates my brow
Readily available to lick my joints.
It is January 5, 2009
And closure hasn’t begun.
The cold has moved in
And I don’t keep the warm like I used to.
I don’t know your warmth like I used to.