Sadness is the perfect sentence disappearing the moment you settle to write and the woman telling
you not to let your dog lick your wounds, for in one case it led to infection
and later a gruesome leg amputation. Sadness is the hatred you feel
with every bite of passion. Sadness is not knowing.
It’s failing to recognize wonder
Seeing only fog reflect back at you
Sadness is a poem read by no one
The inability to ever capture that word
Too much, not enough, silence
Working three months on a paper no one thinks about
Her mail still forwarding to your house precisely three years since she’s been gone.
Guilt in every chamber of your heart
Only in healthy doses, of course
Undeserved thank you’s
The helplessness of addiction
The futility of connection
Of a soul.
But what are we, without a split?