I remember your face, the full beauty of it now gone quiet, I remember your smile, the fluorescent glow of it in my dark days...
What do I call you, now, that your body is dust, wilting away through all feet that tread it?
What memory do I have of your bristling body - ebony black; fresh like the early leaves touched by the dew?
Do I call this a memory of bones, now that you're no flesh that I can hold, touch and feel its pulse?
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
I muse around loss and deep pain, caused by human and society.