Lucas

Lucas

We met one last time

before his corpse was washed. 

I couldn’t get past the odor

of medicine, the skin and bones talking

from the wheelchair stopped me cold. 

Lucas?  Lucas… I didn’t recognize

the proud man I once knew.

He said: Come, give me a hug. 

I held on to a chair worried

I’d faint, but I couldn’t betray

the hope invested in an embrace.

He found substance

in the gathering of friends.

I know because I am acquainted 

with my sins, and all the ways

my fears have killed.