The rain rolls down and

acidifies the flowers.

A month of teetering over the abyss,

barely standing, panicked with

your unnatural lack of strength

and your anger, your soft special

nakedness, needing to get off

the steep slope, find a resting log, feel

that you can defeat this gravity pull, break

the shade around your mind and waterproof

your walls.


How can it be so hard?

So quickly the eclipse came and covered,

thinning your resilience. The moment the cloud

loses balance, it descends from the sky.

The condition is stark, helpless

words and prayers rot beside it like cabbage

left too long in the sun.


My love cannot save you,

never leaves a mark. Only

waiting now for the medication

to kick in, for your psychological

equilibrium to be restored –

holding hands across the sofa.


I would hold the whole of your pain

if I could, hold and pull you

from the weighted mass, sinking.


There is nothing. Watching your eyes

not your eyes – both us trying with all our wisdom

and might but nothing shifts. A vacuum,

inhospitable to miracles or mercy.


O God please give him green, let the tall grass

brush across his limbs, let your angels gather, electrify

his inner current, reviving, opening a path to

his immaculate freedom.

Let him stand again.

His dreams are authentic

and still burning.



Copyright © 2022 by Allison Grayhurst



Published in  “Communicators League” August 2022



Published in “Winamop” 2022


You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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