All Break

I think of Hemingway—

bull-sized, belligerent,

bled weary and marked by the matador;

as dead by his own hand

as she is dead

in this phone call retrieved

days and actions later.

Arrogant in pronounced knowledge

of the work, the word

she marked a place—

singular, carnal, stoned,

ambitious as Perkins, as Rexroth, as Ferlinghetti.

Illness and mortality have no logic.

Suicide touches no sense.

Life in the world has broken another.

Let us whisper “Loss” for a day.