This has something to do with the passing of Leonard Cohen. At least, I suspect it does. Or maybe it’s just another meditation on mortality. Either way, when I finished, I sighed and slowly tried to disentangle myself from the world of the poem. I wasn’t entirely successful, as I’m still thinking about these two hours hence.

Reunion

When she could no longer feel
her arms (her legs went years ago)
she summoned him with her mind:
You must come now. No questions.

He arrived at dawn, boiling with fear,
grinding his teeth into paste.
He found her in the garden, facing
east, whispering to a makeshift sun.

He gathered her up swiftly, kindly
and offered a blue prayer to anything
that would listen, any god or mortal
with the power to turn minutes into hours.