After the Fall

Oh, my sweetheart,

this gut-twisting swamp

of dirt and piss and recrimination,

this dark side of devotion sucked away,

is not what you longed for, imagined

for yourself in the moment before

the crash and the burn.

You offered a gift

unbounded by doubt,

exuberantly generous,

extravagant,

tender.

In return,

the great fall,

spectators aghast

and you, a crumpled heap.

The surgeon reminded

of the time a similar sort

of thing happened to Dumpty,

a good egg,

and all the putting together,

the reassembling,

all the muttering and the neighing,

the negativity,

the sense that there would be

no next time. But here you are

between flashbacks, wavering,

feeling not quite ready

for the next pitch and catch.

Good wishes, great advice receding.

Recite your new mantra,

eye on the ball that’s coming.