CRISTO

It’s been one year in the eyes of a prophet, but one thousand losses in the soul of the seeker. My son is here yet gone and it pains me in even as I take shots of that analgesic called “faith.” What can I write about you? You still speak to me in whispers and dreams. Some may think it’s foolish that I still live of you, but souls, our children, come to us in different forms sometimes. Feline you were and are, but my child no less. You are not gone. You will never be gone. You are always with me. I do not mourn you thus, since you are here and will return anew in a different form at a different time. I celebrate you, Cristo, child of my heart.

Come, let us talk awhile and laugh.