Don't leave you be...

 

 

Your chair next to mine next to hers next to his 

next to yours next to mine.   

We go round.  We stay still. 

There you be.  You look by and past. 

  

I see it in your back though.  Taught, well-hemmed, fair secure against this storm of our old age.  Can see it still when you turn, revolving armor, armadillo, armada.   

Your arms fly about and bother with me now.

I will hear what I want to hear, so please leave me be.  
I'm worrying myself with the nothingness before I was.  I've had it turned the other way for so long.  Friendly with my past, missing it, jelly-teared about it, shrine making.  And, this holy disregard for the every next year...months, weeks, soon be.

   

This cannot be the place for my dignified years. 

I cannot have planted for this. 

We have wronged me, myself, mine chair.  Next to yours next to hers next to his.  Wrong ways around.  This whole time.  

My lips dry and caked.  

It’s no matter.  Your arms bring me cloths to wet and quiet them. 

Armature of my old age. Mater Matuta Maturus.

I must worry about my beginnings now.  So, let me be.

But, you.  Burn out the stays that keep you always forward turned.  Shed jellied tears for the nothing from which you came. 

 

There were two halves of nothing.  This whole time.

Salty comfort for your breaths.