The swell of all

I’ve sometimes marveled

how there are so many people

that don’t know my name

because I wrote that pretty great poem

that included them in a swell of all

but I suppose

I didn’t know their name either

or the poems they wrote

*

I made lunch for two

but you are no longer here

and now

I am not hungry either

*

Those that tend to heaven

talk about it tirelessly

reminding you what’s good and right and holy

but listen to those from hell

because they won’t say a word

and they know the untouched cruelty

of being left alone

to water soil that’s dried and arid

like you will be

on the day that heaven fills

and hell is all that remains

like a good love

that swells in summer

and smells in the morning

like heat and sex and you