On Loss

Loss is so prevalent I must ask if she has my name written on a list—

A dark page seen by her knowing eyes, waiting to mark another name away from one surrounding my own. 

I must devise a plan to find her, blind her, and burn her wretched list, for I cannot part ways with a one more of these dearly beloved,

But still, my heart holds fast in defiance to the unjust thievery of she, Loss.

The One-Sided Telephone Call

No words spoken held weight in the Dead Sea.

They swam and swam, and yet

Remained afloat—bobbing.

Fish out of water.

Every remark taken with thirty billion tonnes of salt.