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)