On my sleeve
Seeping
On the open road
The ebbed away life
Anointed brow
Turned pale
Fainting is not an option
The bitter air no issue
How peaceful
He becomes
Almost beautiful
In the wind
Sirening around
The rest of us
The hurricane
That is yet to come
Crashing down
His widow in the Parlour
Holds her soon to-be-born
Child
Sweet expectancy turned
Sour
I want words
I want to say that
He was accompanied
And not alone
All I have is tears
Flowing
Down my cheeks
And it is she
Who consoles
The consoler
Touching my face
So kindly
Self-possessed
The dug-deep dignity
Rising up in tragedy
To the more
That is in all of us
When we least expect
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