restless sleep

each dream I see you
a relief, then a nightmare
tie my hands and watch you suffer
helpless, cold under anesthetic dust covers

	and then...
	then blamed you for wanting respite

five years have passed
a stoic tree still sits
its limbs stretch, indifferent to
the pulsating fury of memory

the neighbors have all changed
no longer pass around stories
of how and why you left
or where you might've went

I don't visit graves
or even feel that that makes sense
but I still write to myself
each anniversary