I'm at that age now
where the people I watched wed
are filling for divorce.

it bores a hole, similarly gauged 
to commune with gravity
clutching spaces, knuckles' wide 
between pauses:
breathless moments of wherewithal
sentiment and statement, emptied 
poorly lit podiums, stood up to greet a moonless night.
from deep within newly parched lips they ask :
"what do we do now?" 
Never a louder whisper nor a response left so violently in repose ; never so many downturned heads and shuffling feet, roiling in the discomfort of truth.

and the truth is the question had always been rhetorical 
only now
its weight is carried on one fewer set of shoulders
in a manner far more
afraid.