Leaned forward in my bed
tears rolling
thru the cups of my hands
and
collecting at my elbow
as they
slide
down my arm.

The swords hang behind me.

They are sharp and keen
and
devoid
of purpose

when
was my hand
strong enough
to carry them?

I am not that man,
I am
thinner
grayer
rain pouring from my eyes
and pooling
on my lap.

This blanket is warm
I will
crawl
beneath it
and dream
about the swords
falling on me.