To deaths untimely
pacified by chatterbox-
an elegy.
It is past fullmoon, yet,
they have yet to realize your departure
and instead puncture
your veins unjustly watering a tree that has lost its vigor
with dead roots clogged, clotted
with cells of red when time stops
and the Chinese string of red strings your name and death in the same Cotton wool jersey or candy though neither brings warmth or sweetness to you or your family.