Victor

The shock will ebb
but its high tide
when I'm dressing
and I realize
(hard-hitting like 3am sunrise)
that you died, you died, you died


The chaos that
possessed your cells
and turned them into
something else
(overzealously fucking despite your health)
We heard but couldn't help


Last night when I
could hardly weep
picturing soft linen
on your knobby knees
(just evidence now of your disease)
You sleep but do not dream