advent journal: incremental

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incremental

this shortest day
was spent contemplating
two long-lived lives
alongside of sons
and spouses caught
in the anteroom
of unraveling

that opens into grief

I had no answers
I hardly had comfort
I had only presence
and a few words
a few forgettable words

in the midst of
discussing details
I said something
about depression
my depression

a shadowed stare
dawned in solidarity

nothing got better
wounds are still wounds
words are just words
and not enough
to do anything more
than add a few
seconds of solace

Peace,
Milton

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