The one who falls, is falling reaches for me,
The weakened hand grips tightly as it can,
That which pulls her backwards grips her firmly,
Down into the blackness of the wound
Desiccated blood, not salt, it does not weep —
Cavity in vision, God's excision,
Not dream or vision, nor a sleep,
No ghost or shadow, visible transition
A pulling force that overmasters all
Will to overcome, no one evades
The entropy of disassembled molecules —
What has been put together is unmade
And yet she grips me tightly and holds on
I am as helpless, but I am her son
