I hold my hand over my heart/ because I know it knows no rest:/ it does not want to mourn what/ passes from this life, just yet.---From “Trauermantel” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 05-28-11
bodes grief; leave it free to flit from
whence it came to where it goes.
of the ghost it carries from unknown
gardens, uncharted lanes, lost zones:
alighting on your chair not your tea cup
where it is moist and comfortable.
Let it leave its yet undelivered
message: a brew of auguries and omens
from the cocoons of the netherworld.
Or shall I leave you to scare yourself
beauty, wherever you find it, is an omen.