The dead don’t change
they follow us in dreams
demanding the same
satisfaction.
You, so long gone
you seem to me,
a dream:
& yet I conjure crystal clear
an image of your young self,
I used to miss you
but now I find you
ridiculous.
It’s taken long years
to buffer your blows
never anything solid
that stuck.
You were born on a breeze
lived high in azure sky
disappeared into a
morning mist
leaving us
with nothing.
(Listen here)