Thinking

by Anele Rubin

It will happen slowly.
I’ll stop thinking
so much, so often
about you.
There are all kinds of rivers
and streams and creeks and
ponds and lakes and large open seas
and there is time and distance.
You left so quickly.
I don’t know if anyone caused it
or just didn’t try hard enough
to dislodge the obstruction
or if those nearest loved you as helplessly as I.
There was always so much
I didn’t know.
I didn’t let the last fears you spoke
alarm me. I’d become numb
for protection.
The air is heating up now
and rain would be welcome.
My dog is panting.
I miss your raucous humor
and your deep–pitched voice.
I was going to find help.
I had a plan but you died too soon.
I know you couldn’t wait
for what you didn’t trust.
The old graveyard is alive with birds.
They perch on the stones and sing.