Death.
Dust, the smell of an unused notebook.
Forgotten, it lies rotting
inside the bureau drawer.
Open it, release
the scent of earth.
You.
Can’t imagine the hollow
bird-bones of your spirit
sorted by size and sealed
into the dust.
They’re nothing like
your feathered eyelashes,
the gentle wingspan of
your smile.
So instead of something subtle, seemingly
without meaning, I can see you
splayed. Limbs the four points
of a compass.
Are you guarding him,
or warding us away?
A green light.
It fits you like a second skin,
caressing, cocooning.
You fall, once again –
Splayed. The four points of a compass.
Bam!
That’s the way you went out.
All red-haired defiance and fresh-green glory.
A meteorite streaking, earthbound.
A Phoenix bursting into flames.
If only I could raise you
from
the
Ashes.