I’ve used memory
to prod something lose
to give a sharp instrument
for the forced breath
of the frauds and creeps
that swell into the night
from what we cannot see
with your eyes or mine
gouged bloody from a face
when laughter echoed
mirror’s diamond glass then
cut him free, away from me
the ravished boy
once golden in the sun
then laid unmoving on the floor

I’d look forward to death if I thought that there I’d find him in some heaven of myth or religion.

Some place of golden beauty and loves of time and gifts of animals that we have loved and that have loved unbidden.

But lacking heaven I’ll seek out death to end in peace where I’ll not have to think or remember or dream.

And it won’t matter that he’s not there.