Jim’s Death

For Christopher Isherwood

i

if I sit here and cry    let me be

it is needed    for the soul can carry

only so much before it breaks the shelving

it has been stacked upon and falls    shattering

upon the ground    the way the tears shed

by history fill the oceans to the brink of collapse

because it is natural    to feel as if a small part

of life is over    forever lost    that there is

nothing more one can do than mourn

ii

bring in all the books I read as a child

and pile them up high so that I may

feel the years collect around me    like water

spilling in    flowing    crystal clear and promising

a return to the cleanliness    to the purity

I always wanted    but was always unable to gain

I will lap at it as though it is a rich wine

and recount the tales of the times I adored

gulping until I drown amongst the paper harvest