urgent emergent

The drag of every day, a kind of grinding on and on. This witness as dismissive as it is wearying, the duty of this late last shift. On through the vague tenure of decay, the short sharp breath, the testimony of the lost step. On through this soft oblivion, the wild gyrations of the old faith growing slow. This last kiss falling away in leaps and days.

I follow the call of the urges, then the least resistant sort of way. Some vagabond faith based on oaths and observed stations. Some old standard and stubborn juke box truth. I stagger on step by step, the turn of word, the telling of the time. Even the empty is something said.

The loss of company and the slow burn of held wishes. The ache of the flesh measured in lack and want. The long fade looking you in the eye as the seasons say their goodbyes. The night drawn tight around the carcass, your touch still lingering long past gone. Close whispers and held breaths, a passion read like poems. This only if only, the light unspoken, the home unknown.