Maybe After All Of This

Maybe after you have closed the door
to his room for the last time, closed in

the motes, the lighters he stole at bars,
the stuffed bears of his infancy, maybe

after you have sealed the cherry box
and laid it peacefully atop a dresser,

and maybe after you have said his
name aloud three times to the singing

moon and mute river, maybe then,
after all of this, you can lie down amongst

the stars, and say your own name, aloud,
just for once, after all of this, to know

that you are not his death and that
his death is not alone in all of this.