I approach stunned, bewildered
A minesweeper’s brute concentration
Focused on the next step
Stepping aside ghosts
Step aside, make room,
It’s a throng now
Like, at that point
Where you’d feel cursed
If you didn’t know better
I mourn the death of a friend,
And I feel guilty for forgetting,
However briefly, the old dead.
I thought I was coping just fine with yet another death.
Whatever, done this before, no problem, right?
But, maybe not.
I don’t know if I’m doing this right.
I don’t know if I’m using it as an excuse to write poetry
Or exploiting it to reach out
Calm and something else.
Some other feeling
I take these as common signs of bereavement.