“. . . until your brain turns blue”


There are those who don’t believe in death
It’s natural they say. God’s way
recycling the universe: the breath
of jasmine our breath  the jagged cries of jays
our cry  This golden rain tree petal
floats slanting to our table here
because the ashes of our loved ones settle
deep into the DNA of everywhere

This seems both hopeful and scientific
which is to say  American: I’m sick
of it  Be logical until your brain turns blue
But she
will never come back. Nor he

Nor I nor you


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