The Lungs

the clouds

of the body

at death

absorbed

into the body

the colorless

saturation

of decay

the initial

diffusion.

The Urgency

the wind is singing

a waterfall song

through the trees up

along this hillside

I am as alone here as anywhere

where there is usually family

is for me emptiness and suspicion

last night as we walked to the car

she grabbed my hand as much

for my own warmth as for hers

and still the wind spliced us

and now splitting wood

the crease of my thumb

bleeds from a splinter

of oak that I dig

with my pocketknife

sweat beads on my face

though it is cold

and the air crisp.