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Rain & Hail

It’s pelting against my window- I can’t sleep.
The birds left scars of beauty in sunlight-
I watched them feed & thought of you- your
final flight or descent. And, I know where that
place is- that which holds so much terror you
dare not breathe. Where you are afraid of your
own reflection & the expectations of a world that
knows so little of your soul. The seeds you planted.

The costume you wore for days on end. The way you
smiled while hugging a tree & from what I was told
you’d never raise your voice. You didn’t know your
rarity or heroism. Somewhere down the line after

you tried to settle back in, it all got so clouded &
I did not know you so I could not reach you. But, I
know your kind, am your kind, would have loved you
frequently & with assurance. And my heart collapses

to see your eyes in your father’s eyes & the heart
in him torn asunder, that I can do little about.

I wrote a poem that was inspired by your father’s
love, you know. Just as I am writing this while I hurt
in ways that not be named or openly
discussed. This is what makes me wish you alive

even more- to know that you felt that bad & I,
by some miracle of a god I’m very pissed off at,
might have found you & helped you make the
shadows, moonbeams, birds or
whatever was your favorite country song to sing…
rise up & call us in-  then dance the pain away.

I am sorry for our kind-  for various warriors.

Every great heart that turns inward. Every
thought or tear that rises within the morning
of rain and hail, is filled with you & your father

as he slowly gets out of bed & sees your eyes in his-

then echoes his cries in the shock of you gone.

& the blue skies of
seldom summers, that you

fought so hard to defend.

~Heather Lenz
Dec. 2015

in loving memory and respect for E.D.