Daniel E Haislet

although I don’t handle it with grace
I won’t name grief unbearable 

most people prefer
expect damage even want

as if it must be so as it has been so
and even they bear the grief 

must in the dark nights
i look to the black behind my eyelids

pray for color for dream instead i recall
every detail inside the room where you died

the old joe diffie song you sing
it’s the thought of being dead

i pretend to read rocannon’s world
on the ikea rocker while you breathe

sounding like west facing windows 
when the sun comes over the roof

spilling over the emerald corian
desktop you built when i was a kid 

and the little narcotic bottles like tin soldiers
glow like newly ordained knights or angels 

and still no
all the earmarks of a sick god

the pain is achilles and you
your gates defended by tin soldiers

you squeeze jess’ hand once for yes
when she offers you morphine

your face the shade of dried lemon husk
tobacco stained bathroom tiles

michael on the roof raking pine straw down 
your breath now matching the rake strokes

still i won’t name grief unbearable 
will instead consider its shape

your breaths in starts and gaps in the shape of water
grace-shaped in the silence between them

the shape of the small glass filled to its brim
the shape of sand grains slipping to the bottom

each particle as it breaks the surface displacing
liquid equivalent until all’s left

a glass of sand taking its time
taking the shape of grace

i won’t name grief unbearable
as it takes the shape if its container