I sat up last night
with a dying man
Cradled his head, stroked his hair,
held his hand
He didn't speak
and we rested in silence
Waited for peace, seekng answers
to the violence.
I hadn't meant to do it--
be responsible for death
Yet here I was, accountable
as someone drew a final breath
It was an accident,
truly, and now it's done
The chance of it happening again
are close, I'm sure, to none.

I sat with him
through the night
Cradled his head, stroked his hair,
held him tight
And eventually
he passed--
From the harshness, the violence,
he found relief at last.

10/02/2001

Posted on 10/02/2001
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