Nursery Rhyme for the Dead and the Dying

 (for Kazuo Ôno — white body, white wave)

Between

           love

           and milk

      she weaves

and

unweaves

the space

        that holds

thread

      to

         bone.

Made of sinew,

made of struggle,

she draws

  a curtain to  

a man

      becoming

                bird,  

    water

      becoming

stone.

Voices drift

  through

bone

whale,

laughing,  

       then

  still.

An old woman

             passes—

in her hands

      a poppy

and one fading

forget

      me

        not.

White body,

      ash waves—

she surfaces

     to breath and bow

   only to dive

       again

between

     skin

   and

      bone