What becomes of the brokenhearted?

What is the truth, in this
matter? He is not
telling. He can do
anything. Late in the
night, his office a cool
island in a river. But
even here, warm water
soaks his shirt. A girl's
smile on his desk. Their
children under glass. She
lies sleeping, in her bed.

Man, he's been in hot
water, the last couple
days. Too much pressure.
Something broke. Not
him. His word fixed
things. Knew when to look
the other way. And then
she bled. Yes he had
laughed. How could he
know? That was hard
knocks. But she got
over it. Everything under
control. Taught her
a good one. Always so
mysterious. High
tensioned. So why
all this heat today? They
were steaming. Wouldn't
listen. Said he gave
his word. Well he
had acted. For their own
good. He alone stood
at the center. Cut
through-what they said
couldn't be. But he
knew best. A surgical
decision. Like splitting
stock. Life more
abundant. No blood
on his hands. His
word. Trust.

What is the matter, with this
truth? He is not
anything. He can do
nothing. Solomon's
solution. Broke
her. What's
the difference? No
mystery. Just
power. Light.

Tom Koontz
The Flying Island 1999