Your life, like a deer's skin
camouflaged in the brambles;
what I heard of you
from my mother who heard
from our grandmother
that you died this morning.
I don't remember you
much but I should. Your life
parallel to mine but far
ahead. This morning,
this morning, mine
outlived yours.
When the sun sets
this evening, making
its journey around
the world, I will try
to imagine you
waking.
