EULOGY:  A  G I R L 

I.

Funeral: a paler version of light, black attire,

Mosaic memories talking in circles,

Lingering in the aftermath like smoking spitfire,

a swollen sun swallowing the flat sky.

II.

Here is distance.

Here lies a horizon.

A melody has gone to the wind,

But she was godless,

Choking to the brim

with moonshine and sin.

There are red hues and

Violet fumes resting in her wild wake;

We became silhouettes in her sunset.

III.

The rain ripped through us.

Knives. Cat eyes.

Nothing sits quietly in this house

Of red skies. This season of false midnights

Is the only trace of a sky that once burned.

E P I L O G U E

She alternates between water and stone.

A statue owned by a drunken sculptor.

You won't see her even with your eyes closed.

Melt her wax gaze and fly into the Sun.

Remember what true freedom feels like.