It Is More and More Within

Walking the grey side of the river, it was as if it had been evening since dawn.

He said, ‘You know, one day – all of this pain – will be like a distance we do not need to approach.’

‘Like one meant for a stranger.’

‘The grief will not press us from outside, but be apart of us within.’

The river strained itself, couldn’t
perceive its own aimless struggle

Amassing a blindness.

‘A mesh.’ He said.

He begged then, taking my hand, ‘My friend,’

‘Tell me my life will be proud to leave me.’

But I broke down, brought my wrist
to my eyes to hide each passage.

Elbows ill-met the ground.

And I didn’t know until then

That a person could cry so slowly,
so deeply from inside.