It is it
I had Covid twice
I was more dead than alive
pale gasp walk to grocery
cooties consuming me
life fading lungs
I dreamt of stairwells
It’s done, the grandmas are in graves
masks in storage, we move on
no
its to remember and be kept
hurt stories and names
I love you all, kneel and cry
in a field of tranquil flower
my cup of mourning is full
among the rest
on this bus ride
I don’t want to be alone
sit next to me
and we will hold behind masks
I come home from work at a convalescent home
people die constantly
stand here and hold a hand
as it grows cold
watch the beeps diminish
again, cease breath and slide
its not time yet to cry
we have to go on weaving
we held death and shoved on
a mourner, with frown and bouquet
look at us on the bus
a forest away with lilac of death among
we should come to each other
sit with, tell your grasp of the raft
a vanishing point
I went among prairies
to mourn better,
bring cloth for graves
on hard roads
I went away with seekers
slept rough and fought truth
where I wanted to walk was all water
when I wanted talk, a bus bench
so I willow in vanish sorrow
among hay feather glass birds
you died in Covid
and we leave that to here
arms draw inward
geese weave reeds
honk and make silly the morose
hands sift loss among moon wool
inward we mourn
as lamps close
