Daphne's Grief

I pinpoint a particular,
an exact length of time,
A blur of seconds, one
after another, and another,
and another:

Just before she disappears
into a flurry of root, trunk, branch, leaf,
and just after he stretches out his arms
to embrace the paleness
she had started to fade into--
a tightening around her heart materializes
and a river of tears gushes out,
spilling all over: all her pain,
her exhaustion, the misery of having asked
so many questions that didn't have any answers,
the grief of loving while knowing
the anguish that comes with it,
the struggle to keep at bay
the infliction that comes with wanting more,
the grief of knowing she cannot, must not want more--

that moment, dear Reader, I
bespeak you to picture yourself
in that commotion
of plea and prayer for something one can hardly
know not what, exactly, the question
that must overcome the mind
while running in a chase
that seems to have no end in sight
except loss.

A reprieve was what she must have asked for,
a deliverance in any kind, any form,
anything but the pain that is and is to be.

Understand that all these, she bears
before succumbing to the transformation
that was to be her end, and even then,
she lifts her arms in a stance

of prayer: redeem me from my fall,
deliver me.