What is it that leaves us, Lord, when breath becomes
entwined with branches and shakes
through our lungs. What gasp escapes
begging a name, Lord,
what of a name-

And when does hope leave us -- is it a slow leak, crawling
on our knees to find the source,
cracks in pavement, warped wood --
do you reside between my fingers, where
itching and grasping I pull close a sweater --
or is it an envelope, a letter, mail forgotten
on my kitchen table, signed August 22nd, 2009 --
deceased, return to sender, or

perhaps your name, Lord, is written
on the pages of my book, the pages
I have turned over and over again.