i keep singing

this winter there has been
a violent thawing
of my being

a circular type of unbecoming
without actually
unbecoming
the person who death has made me.

tonight i smile at the perfect creature
turning his gaze towards my voice
as i sing bob dylan tunes to him.

and i think about her heart
that will never beat outside my body…
then gently dab off the salty wet spots on his cheek
fallen from my eyes.

but i keep singing
and try to welcome the world as it is,
and not as it should be.

into the wee hours of the morning
i keep singing,

and if i didn’t know any better,
i could swear i hear her
singing with me.

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