The form was never alien to me—

I knew the burning long before the name

inscribed its letters on my heart in flame,

my tiny lungs pronouncing agony—

the ancient sorrow screamed through infancy.

I learned the war on tears; I battled shame.

I learned to swallow pain and look the same

as stoics hailing death upon the sea. 

But then I saw You standing at his grave,

perfect manhood pouring out your tears 

where death submerged a friend in wakeless sleep. 

There You grieved, though you would shortly save,

and there I thrust away the stone cold years

to lay my head upon your heart and weep. 

Photo by Erika Hierschlaeger: https://www.pexels.com/photo/historic-cemetery-in-edinburgh-scotland-38498357/