Friday, November 22, 2019


So many I love
have died. That's what
we do, isn't it?

We die. My father
struggled with night
terrors at the end.

I had already
put my hand in his
and he said, "You

smelled him, didn't you,"
speaking of the demon-
tiger. The darkness

overwhelmed us.
It was a week later,
after we buried him,

I saw another
sadness, another
star winking out.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?