and don't grieve

(Even at night, ice on the ground bears

witness to the blackness of those “secret hours,”

always awake to the cold

sprawl,

sky’s frozen lake.)

Think of all the things you cannot hold

and don’t grieve.

(“We’re still alive!” says Rachel.)

And don’t grieve.

Don’t grieve for young times when there was less

to fear,

as you casually hurled grenades at encroaching

future,

or for the dream you had of swarming sharks,

or for men as they

make love to bottles or

women as they

make love to bottles,

don’t grieve for the unearthly procession of grandmothers

that were brought in with the mail,

for fingers lost to machinery,

for hearts lost to false hearts, or

environmental mirages.

Oh love love love look how you cry

on the inside.

Oh love love love look how you cry

on the inside

and don’t grieve

(“We’re still alive!” says Rachel)

and don’t grieve.

Don’t grieve for Jason Molina

he’s not listening.

Don’t grieve for Jason Molina,

there aren’t enough tears on tap in the world.

Don’t grieve for him, once started

where’s the stopping.

.

And all the things you cannot hold

I cannot hold.

Mornings: morning when a scrub jay

hops on the desk.

Nights full of fear and nights

full of comfort.

Sacrifice your carefully curated objects

to the truer abyss.

The truer abyss is adorned with

gold chains that slipped down the drain,

jaspers and agates that fell off

the edge of the lookout.

Don’t grieve for the truer abyss,

in truest form it both hears you

and doesn’t care.

And love love love

look how you cry

on the inside.

And love love love

don’t grieve,

don’t grieve,

don’t grieve.

1/11/15