the sound of my pulse keeps me up at night,

fighting fierce but still succumbing

before my brain and blood cells reunite

it’s so much quieter when I’m running

my limbs cling to each forgotten ember

the brain a drained but bottomless ventricle,

it helps to force myself to remember

even the moon goes on sabbatical

 

dressing in drapes, drawing on sleeves of crimson

I look to where I was this time last year

this month, this day, this hour. This second

I want to be here. I want to be here.

 

so much of my life the last autumn leaf

dangling in the wind on the highest branch

of a barren tree squinting down at all

the leaves that either   fell or leaped  before me,

wondering

           why​