And of all my
last hugs, there was
only one I knew
would be the last.
And I cried, not
then, but weeks later.
And just this morning,
I caressed the breeze
and kissed the sky
with my hyperopic eyes.
And I hugged all
of my foxed memories.
And I accepted the
new world where words
are swords or maces
(or received as such),
and hearts are poisoned
and goodwill is starved.
And I finally wept—
hard, stinging, yet brief—
And then silenced myself.