Memory, since the day you drowned, I am water.
I wash over you. In your name, I am blue.
Let me rise and subside along the
Loss does not hit until you are treading a preponderance of pine and you hear it: crows softened by snow. Or until you return
It isn’t just the uncertainty of things, the hairline crack in the hawthorn trunk, the grackle banging into the window then disappearing. It is