Thieves (for Lisa and Eve)

I am convinced that there are sounds
with which my sorrow is unacquainted.
That there are arms who mean more
to the body they fell upon than the hands
by which they are inextricably known.

What publicity may mitigate for the breathing.
I offer you handlebars: all the liquid
that still struggles in our chests.

That we may hold this space gently.
and believing.
That our heads may float to Heaven
and garnish our ears.
What comfort scams rampant and allows:
say grieving.
What language mimics is oblivious:
plead rest.