I buried my face

I lay in cool softness

Not like sponge-

But malleable

As it takes to the image of my face

Like fine damp sand ready to bear

A likeness of me

My plaster of paris death mask

My whole body drapes across

What I weep for

Fingers spread wide apart

Seeking to grasp my loss

I spend last seconds trying to hold

What has shrugged me off

Futile tears

I should never visit the past

For I truly do not know who I weep for

When before me lies warmth

Sweet softness

Welcoming

Beckoning

Forgiving

Wanting me

I sicken myself

I dared to look back

And with that glimpse

Open a torrent in my soul

From which spills forth

What you would never allow me to give you

And it flows like blood

Bleeding away

Mingling with the dust

Of the sodden form

Over which my body lays

A thick red trail

Picking up the particles

From over what it pours

And they mix forever

At the bottom of the hill

The mud of the mixture

Dripping slowly into a spring

Each drop sinking

To the bottomless well

Leaching into what was once pure

I gasp for air but I endure

And the future is always unsure

Except for what we hope for