takes a minute
for the heart
to catch up to loss
the final snap
of whiplash
flight and abrupt halt
surprised to see
the organ twitching
on the dashboard
or on the diner table
or gasping for air
in the river
wondering which wound
isn’t healing
or if its a convergence
spontaneous convention of pain
congregating in the middle
of the street
Loss eats a unique labyrinth
until the connectors
start giving way
until it is a hole
and the futile wandering
becomes a plotless dropping
nothing to grasp on to
once in mid air
become one with the path
which is death
it’s always death
getting good at dying
is to survive living
everything never more
synonymous with nothing
progress never more
synonymous with process
now never more
relevant than
ever