To feel sad when it rains seems cliché,
but such is my felt sense this morning.
I feel her willful silence beating inside,
like the dreadful space between thunder.
How many ways have I numbed myself
to this tragic parade of our lost love?
How many identity projects, work emails,
how many whiskey saviors served neat?
But what purpose lie in my playing the song,
Andrew Bird’s Sovay, over and over again?
The longer we hold on, the more we suffer,
and the more meaning our story holds.
Fergus taught me to turn from my brooding,
and open into the vast expanse of sky.
But this transcendence breaks down under
its own weight when the sky is full of tears.
Do real heartbreakers savor this sense,
this bittersweet cleaving of two hearts?
Am I one? Are you? I fall through the song,
deeper and harder, until this ache is pure.
