odds

death
separated us like a busted light bulb
leaving a void of shadow between
un-passable but by consumption
unquestionable but by communion
you could not fight the crashing motorbike
and fly, as Jesus did to heaven
to safety, but i hope you are safe
this world never meant much to you
but i did, and you left me
with an apartment and a wilting pot
of daisies on the kitchen table where we
would eat English muffins with cream cheese
on one side and strawberry jelly on the other
and play sudoku puzzles in the morning
and your mother would call every-other day
to hear our state-of-the-marriage address
and now i regret ever doubting you
ever hating you, ever shouting your name
because now i whisper it in vain
oh, you were always lucky at the casinos
so if i'm lucky
i'll be pushed out of a tall building or be hit
by a texting teenage driver and fly
across the void to join you
in a cosmic sea of bright lights and angles
or nothing.