Those Moments (poem)

It's another one of those nights, one of those nights that inspiration arrives, without a knock or a bell, and I should be in bed but instead I am writing a poem that I might hate in the morning. This is, as of one fifteen a.m., completely unedited, and I present it exactly as it arrived:

Those Moments

i wonder how it was
for you, to stand stricken
and paralyzed, afraid to believe,
unable to act

and i remember the look
on your face, remember
mostly in my nightmares,
i remember what i can

about those moments
before i was subsumed
snagged by the undertow
carried under a tide
of chills and aches and sweats,
watching only your face
stunned and stony, you
reaching for me, you
reaching

so is it strange for you,
i wonder, to hold these
photographs, here, this
bench where we sat,
eating oatmeal cookies,
in dappled sun, in light
while the darkness
was already working through
me. working, not for the naked
eye, not for your naked heart,
not for us, for the us that would
never be again.

and we sat for photographs, on
cobblestones, with bicycles,
and i wonder, if we had known
what might we have said,
if we had known, and i wonder
if for you, i wonder if it ever
gets any easier.