Where my lungs
met my heart,
it was air minus air
when you left;
it was blood
drained of oxygen's
flair when you left.
To my eyes,
it was light
with its sweet
waves of white
boiled out.
If only I now
could see
through those eyes
as they pitied me then—
could here resurrect
the primordial planet
on which
such a demented
physics made sense—
I'd feel I might
still yet survive
my own death.
