and some days, still, it’s like this:

lying in bed
so small pressed against his back
oh his warm back

his black hair is tied in a knot
i stroke it, and know
though i cannot see

that forever is written
on the back of his neck
beneath my lips

for me, where i will see it
at moments exactly like this.
i stroke his hair

and softly, softly so as not to wake him
i weep
and weep for death, for the beautiful ones

who have gone.