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
