I remember the day you died
because the colors of the sky,
champagne and Smurf blue
(I still remember the countless
hours we spent watching that cartoon),
as you dubbed them, were MIA.
Instead, dust and charcoal laid siege.

I remember dreaming of fire
and calloused hands,
scraping and coughing,
feeding a box with your slender fingers
and toes, your sun-bleached hair and nails,
your once vivacious blood and bones,
and then they closed the lid
and handed it to me. You were safe
from the flames and curled into my arms
as we slept together in our bed.
(Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
I floated you on the wind over Daytona,
sprinkling the surf at sunrise.)

And here I’ve wasted these past two years.
(Time never mattered when you were near.)
Smurf blue and champagne
(our toast was scattered
in the wind with you)
blazed again
and the grass grew back
but I can't.

07/02/2006

Posted on 07/02/2006
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