To Issac

The timing of my writing this was odd: I wrote it the week before we knew he would have to begin his battle with cancer.
God bless you, little one: may you conquer all your foes.

One More Fall

I see you lying there, again, I blink.

If you could smell the sweetest autumn breeze,

And take in arms the death of ancient trees,

Once more, throw them into the air: they’d sink…

To play with death but not live on the brink.

If I could hear your laughs at silly leaves,

I’d take you in my arms and kiss your cheeks.

But you would say you were too old, I think.

These grotesque memories that swirl around,

Of you, this place, and white-washed hardened walls.

To snow they turn, the red, and orange and brown.

And even whispers echo through the halls.

No sunshine, just blinds, no leaf-covered ground…

If only you could see another Fall.