The first ray of the morning sun
flutters, pushes and almost skitters up to my face
where, after a short pause, it gently brushes my eyelash with visible trepidation
almost imperceptibly I am roused from my near torpor
caught between Morpheus and the tellurian I see pictures real and imagined
instinctively my hand reaches and grasps for the one next to me
of course all that is really grasped is part of a cool sheet
It has been months since she was there, and even then it was sporadic at best
but this is a morning ritual on my part so I am not surprised nor do I worry
I do think on it but my thoughts go along the lines of "it just is"
it is that moment, that year, that millisecond of thought
that the armada of morning light decides to wage war with my head
full broadsides, canons blazing, directly into my face
my eyes are closed and still I go blind
then the pictures come
I see a Cheshire grin that never fails to make me smile
I see enchanting beauty, gorgeous and erotic
next the vision of her leaning over her sleeping son comes
she kisses him then titters and giggles
all the time looking entirely too proud of herself
lastly blinded and stuck in memory I see her eyes
I glimpse heaven
that look she gave, like she was trying to memorize every detail of me
the look I still catch her giving me
my eyes water. I try to tell myself the light is doing it
but we all know better or we should
because I am still caught in that half world, a miracle occurs
transmutation the likes no cathedral no matter how grand has ever witnessed
these tears. these most precious tears become the most important
part of me. they become my expression, my purity of thought
each one says more than words or books or even whole civilizations could ever
dream of expressing.
I cherish every one as it moves and flows across my face and eventually to nothingness
these tears, these most precious tears
of blood