A Dirge

You weren't always so agile,

light-boned and swift. Once,

you stepped like stone was your kin, like

you carried a mountain beneath your skin,

you knew the gravity of the grave.

Yours lies abandoned, appropriated

by keen-eyed beasts, wary watchers

who haven't figured out that

you won't be coming back.

You've left the earth, given up your grief

in exchange for a new arrangement of ribs,

a racing heartbeat, an honesty

you haven't yet mastered. Here,

the only weight you know is the wind,

the song you carried in your ascent,

the memories heavy on your tongue.