all

ten - i. stellar death

i.
This stellar death,
your born-again

No, I did not earn
this life from this
Yours is what I have to be:
Plucking the strands of hair
from your brush so it's clean,
rearranging your books;
from most adored to least,
showing you my journal from
when I was nine and eleven,
unknotting your silver chain
necklace, undoing your bra

The left eye gets blurry
The time says hush, humbling
The lungs of dune and sandstorm-
It's getting cold
& there's no more clue & -
Dying