(what's untruly true) three days have waned

(what's untruly true) three days have waned
and we ponder some fullness in something
we once thought barren

the clock strikes us with ticks
engulfed in aliveness of the small,
the death of the big in you and i

how steady this tight wrangling
of a thousand drops from youth spills
like snowflakes that melt in our eyes -

only warmer (like the black breaths
that you gasped swiftly while i spat up)
and much more holy

always we were prepared for what this season
could bear unto us: the unbearables and the barren
until you could inhale no more and i

had coughed up all i could muster
and we fell asleep; thinking of what now
must be untruly true (but who knows?)