good mourning

for the heat death
of a bubbling inferno
now coal hard and cold

we mourn

for the stillness
of the space between leaves
repined with longing
resting all energy
in a sad song about being tickled
by the wind

we mourn

for the amé solitaire
pressed between two sheets
of glass, watching but not
seeing, laughing, but not...
of a reflection
entirely more delicate
of a hairline fracture forming
from the separation of all form

we mourn

for the top dogs
among us, for the rulers
of this world, for the decisions
of the masses that buck against the norm
for the jittery leg of the strung out
of white walls overwashed
for the tangled threads
among us
of the tightness
for the tightness
of the tightness
at our core

you know the rest