Once We Buried You
Once We Buried You Dawn falls into its slit of light and even though it's a miracle the chorus of words withers in the windows as old as prayer book pages. It’s the second day of mourning and people lie in uncertainty while lightning strikes choirs who laugh at everyone. I come to look at you rest in silence next to the procession of permanent tidal waves in the flower buds of your eyes. I sprinkle water on your portrait the third day of your posthumous party. The food is not enough for everyone that devours your memory. Plastic flowers hang on nothingness and vague allusions accustom us to focusing on the prayer book when lightning strikes and strikes until it arrives at the place of resignation. To talk about memories that do not curse inside photos and goodbyes hidden between the lips of a veiled word to calm the dawn. Five days passed since your funeral and everything keeps repeati