20 November 2021
He got word today
(As if words can be gotten)
She died this morning
Lines of begetting
Follow the Fall, linear
Time imitating
A mirrored edge
She stationed frames at the beach
Ocean selfies, sand
Having run its course
No one to turn it over
Hourglass facade
The ongoing still
Photo of her with Sangha--
One--hands around wrists
He sits on her legs
He looks at her eyes looking
At him, not typical this
Joe says, must be old
Sangha so tiny and her
Hair longer, not posed
Cannot escape frame
Of photo album of his
Adoption, her joy
Glued in place, covered
By warped clear plastic
You have new memory
My iPhone would say
Take picture of her picture
Post it she returns
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