grief is this calling
that turns its head
that grows head after head
faces to grow into
and out of
faces that lost touch
can’t be touched
look around
he’s dead
grief instead
of him
look around you
why do you
actually
something makes you turn around
what do you think you should see
looking for what isn’t there
says who
grief awaits a declined return
messages unseen, unread
forever, but not in his head
you think you saw something
disappear
but it has shown up
your language is that of loss
your images have lost their mobility
and you stand in a room of death
and within you, the counterpart, the connecting thread
calling home your angels
undead
Croque-Melpomene 