The Lowering

It was the lowering,
the creaking descent
into that gaping hollow
of icey earth
that pooled
my tears
until they slid
down countours
the way rain runs
upon earth’s mantle
to flow toward
some distant Spring.

It was the lowering
into the icey earth,
dusted white with snow,
that made me see our heavy
blackness in relief,
that made me hold our stillness
in memory’s abeyance,
that told me you
had not now our warmth,
had not now our sentience,
had not now our longing for comprehension.

It was the lowering
into icey earth
holding you coldly,
that held me on the edge
of life's dream,
looking downward
toward your sleep
never ending.

by Dennis Lambert

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