Where We Go

how far back would you have to go
to get beyond the beginning of nothingness
and how long would it take you to return
with a clump of dirt and a fistful of seeds
to plant them and have life grow again -

I sit at your bed while you sleep,
tell you stories that come from nowhere
and do not go anywhere, though they help
me not to lose my sanity when there is
no one around to keep me awake come evening.

I cannot see where you might have gone
tonight, and tomorrow I'll be reluctant
to ask, knowing I don't like to be reminded
of the graves that need to be visited,
when I just stare at the mounds, wordless.

Your fingers twitch as if trying to point
in a certain direction, and I touch the tip
of your index finger with mine, impeding
its upward movement, afraid your whole being
will rise, leaving me to face the empty space.

Two heavy comforters shroud your breath,
which makes me put a mirror to your face
to be sure you're still here, and when I look
at the cracked glass your image smiles at me,
though your hands are now made into a fist.