we approach the age of
possible cures slowly
if we number the dead
we do it backwards
and starting at one thousand
two will be the person
you hold most dear and maybe
you’ll never reach it
maybe you’ll be forced to choose
a child or a spouse
or even a younger sister and
what happens is this
we make love
on the living room couch in
the coldest part of april
the sky is a gift from magritte
the houses on this street
somewhere between obsolete
and sinister
you ask me again how
my father died and i tell you again
that i don’t know
he was alive and then
he was on the kitchen floor
he was hooked up to
competent machines and then
the machines were turned off
and it’s here that
the baby wakes up
and the story is forgotten
until next time
it’s here that the world of
barking dogs and ringing phones
reasserts itself
what goes left unsaid
is that no one has been saved
