Returning Your Message

Don’t let me go.
over the cork, a bottle
fights for the fluids
to flow out.

No apology to
feel you. There was
no death in the night.
A sun lies down beside me.

The flesh was disappearing.
A blue star alights,
to make a landmark
for the climbers.

No regrets
for the crunch of dry leaves
when you walk on the
grave of the witch doctor.