The Lost

It was 

given to you

to be able to save

me

and that can’t be 

enough

thinking of those

you could not

rescue, the lost

who slipped

through your fingers

their faces

turning to sand

in your memory 

fading like an old

photograph 

its corners 

crumpled 

how do we remember 

the fallen, may we press them 

like flowers, may we 

inscribe their names

like a litany 

in the hush of the house

for you I wish

whatever healing is possible 

that gentle hands

may help you straighten 

the blankets over the bed

that the fingertips 

of love may touch 

where the tears 

have crossed your 

cheekbones

that your heart 

may be mended.