I wake in the dark
and reach out to snug you close
and your arm
comes free. It falls from your body
like bread. Like
wet rope. And my not yet wakened
mind whispers,
This is what it means to be too
strong for this world.
To be a god, even.
And I chide myself to be more tender,
always more tender,
and as the terror of what I’ve done
begins to swell,
I grow gentle and then
gentler as I remember
you are not
here, have not
been here for years.