Hold on to the afterlife of the beloved, it’s the only thing that’s yours

Hold on to whatever magic in the backyard where we bury our thoughts, things of the world

Things of the world like an afterlife of the world to bury our setting outness

It’s right to extract bone from the afterlife, dust collecting shoes, relics of the afterlife

Cut a hole in the poem to play peekaboo with the afterlife

Rebuild my house out of sky, blur my memoria into song

Make my headdress the right size to salute the emptiness alive in the beloved

The humanness of the beloved, the beloved and the night sky

Shapes floating out there becoming the beloved, the abstract, the total

Image © Richard King