Leaning

Not a chance

he ever will stand straight

again, my leaning tower,

my listing, sinking ship,

my stuck in the rut stage coach,

my train wreck.

Those perfectly vertical

days are history.

Oh they were sweet! 

Remember how we stood 

before that judge straight 

as two cypress trees, vowing 

fidelity for better and worse

(through unimaginable 

sickness)

standing still, unbendable, 

reaching as if our strength would last 

for centuries, as if we were more 

than what we are--bodies that list 

to one side before they fall 

to the ground and blow away 

like flour dust.