Mourning In My Arms

Really, only five years have past Since your son’s abandoned car was found, No note, Along side sea cliffs North of Santa Cruz, After failing with pills, Too many times. No body either, Though at times I prayed for that. Wincing now myself at your pain As you hand beggars at streetlights A few dollars, as you pray, heart broken, Some empathetic soul is doing the same For your son, should he still be alive, Watching your head turn wistfully to search the face Of distant beggars on the wrong side of the street, Both of us feeling in our hearts that he is gone. Rested, before dawn breaks, I close the distance night has sanctioned, Move closer, Take you in my arms Feel tension release As sleep finds its meter, Breath its rhyme. The body’s warmth Giving dreams new assurance. The sweet sound of your sleeping Now informs my answered prayer Deft moves that fluff me into compliance Help me to trust some needs at least are met, My own sleep, pulls on my sleeve like a child, As watchful still, I succumb to warmth of your heart, That even in its half-full, depleted state, Still has the power to make my sun rise. Brian Johnston December 5, 2015