for Castiel

 

When love

looks like densely

woven flannel the color of last

life in autumn, getting stabbed

in the heart

is incidental.

 

You knew

this was coming

but

marching toward the inevitable

for eight years

does not an easier

death make.

Cleaner, maybe.

Simpler, yes.

But never

easy.

 

You knew

that in the flare

of your last

light

you would see

a crumpling face, maybe

two,

and that there would be

no more reaching

out of hands, no more

grasping the arms of

brotherhood

in one last attempt to revive

a lifeline long since

spent.

 

You knew

that as you fell

to your knees

in the crumbling leaves,

the first

snowflake of a Canadian

winter

would fall somewhere in the periphery,

it’s fragile fluttering

the subtle bookend of your

life.

 

When loss

looks like that first solitary

sign of winter, being

remade is

fortuitous.

 

You know.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s