She Is Going

She is going toward that place
that folds its arms around each of us
at the end of our journey,
and I stand in the gully
beside her bed, watching
the slow rise and fall of her chest
as she pushes through the battered gate
of a well lived life
to limp over the last few cobblestones
leading home.
Her mouth is dry with anticipation,
so I lift a glass to her lips
already aware that my offering
will be refused; her milky eyes are focused
on a destination I cannot see,
not on the comfort of her pilgrimage,
and the water will drip down her chin
like the trickle of a dying stream
in the desert.

Still, I cannot help myself.

My emotion tells me to weave
her fingers in mine to guide
those final steps, even though I know
she will drop my hand at the door
and leave me behind.

Falling Back

Falling back from himself,
he saw what he
could have been
if he hadn't spent
so much time
falling back from himself.