Sunday, October 14, 2012

to dust

Stalk still
White fabric, you too
Lay there butcher-style
Blue and gold silk
And the blanket your grandmother
Wove, you into my life
The tread of you ripped from me-fray
Crumble of over face
Your hair, but not your eyes
And down, my melting blues
When I grasp an other mourner's hand
At the sight of the rigamortis
Your 'you-like hand'
Is all that holds focus

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