honor
the dead
with
bad love, awkward kissing
with
laughter and salt
tears
for the gravy on their biscuits
offer
them a smile
a
memory so gently held
it
may flit from your hands
take
to the sky
to
space beyond
where
they dance for you
delighted
you are well
(oh,
so much better than you think)
they
celebrate your joys
rain
healing of eucalyptus gel
on
your deepest sores
your
most devious wounds
call
you forward
not
to the tomb
but
to the edge
where
you will hedge
for
the rest of your mortal existence
always
missing out on the sensation
of
the infinite plummet
of
flying like Supergirl
or
Superman, or Superdog
instead,
you will forever feel
you
are not enough
forever
try
to
be more
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