An elegy

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.