Losing

The worst time to write about a loss
is while you're in it.

Of course it's the only time, too.
While you have it, see --
before you lose that too,
and say something other than
what it was, or knock yourself
out describing what it all meant.

Those dramatic lies we tell
years afterwards --
or those true, pale lessons with the
smart edge and no blood in them --
we don't want either of those.
Not really.

No, the only songs about losing still
playing on the radio 30 years later
came hot out of the magma, baby.

Every good thing we have was
made after someone's great loss.

Creation happens for an emptiness.

God's boy left home,
and we made Christmas.

Van gogh lost the lobe, and we're
still staring at the sunflowered fruit.

You left yesterday, and this
morning I made a cup of coffee
and some prayers.
I'm starting small, but
it was a damn good cup of
mud though, and strong.