the day you died, i swam

I stood upon a whale’s back 

shrinking palm on a sediment lung 

serrations carve sifted strokes 
	lichen bones 
a thigh of marks, stretching 


after the news, i chose 

a mossy exit, or it chose me 

slipping calf hair into lining 
	a bed; an entry 
to grief


static and fibrous 

shred by the final, the less so - 

memory and messages 

objects that die everyday
	and keep you,
still, somehow 


i felt that damp when you left

pressing a knee down

to beg sun into creases
	you are still living 
here, sharply in my ribs 


that smile you pulled yesterday, 
yesterday that smile 

today pulled out itself 
	saying 
you are dead


somehow gone but 
	lingering 

handprints on the rock 
	slicing lines, wet,
to meet you