Almost.

There’s a grip, almost lost.

I almost failed to find the shore.
Adrift beneath a forsaken sky,
without a single star
to lead me home.

I felt the water filling up my lungs,
my last breath trembling
at the end of my surrender.

A love steadfast, became the root
beneath the crumbling earth.

An obedient trembling step
into another morning.

Your fragrance rose
from the catacombs of my thoughts,

where I had begun
to make my bed
among the corpses.

You left me love notes everywhere,
steeped in cups of botanicals.

Or waiting for me at baggage claim.

Or carved into tombstones.

The rooms that were prepared for me to walk through.
Spoken through unfamiliar faces
whose words were foreign,
but the kindness translated itself.
I’ll never forget the chair you pulled up next to me in the cryptic chambers of my mind.

Pigeons giving life to the streets,
Or in the call of crows,
You knew which sounds
would bring me home.

Now I bring You
all my almosts—
the grief you hear

before I find the words.