Photograph by Michael Howarth (2022)
‍
Death, Perfect‍

a stillness
will appear in your body
‍
in the ravines and hollows
the sunlight filling
‍
(a breath
we had not noticed—
‍
trill of a little wren)
‍
this will be the present
you’ve waited for
‍
without knowing
leaves detaching
‍
one by one
‍
stems silent
(the winter trees)

Reverberation

‍on the other side
a place                 inside

perfectly still
the rest               the holidays

the snow           the gray blue
flaking

thought             closed down
we were given

some other      paths
short flight      a lamp

it was too         high
in the rain        sneaking about

covering            my face
standing            in murk

a bad dream     nightdress

getting dark