We are all at loss. We lose ourselves
over distant things, hurting us without
any contact. We are all at loss
for words, which should rather be
accepted for its truth: this dawn,
this son, this mother’s grave, this
that was that. Breaking news:
He had a gunshot wound to the heart,
an external wound to the back
of everyone he loves – those who loved him –
as if consoling them. We are all at loss
as if we always owe an apology.
I woke up never hearing a gunshot from the cemetery.