we never met, i never read you, though
i wrote what you wrote, after you died...
we never met, should we have?
there is a memory of you before the
very aroma wafted your words to my ears
in a small frothed cup of your sounds
i sipped your words sung by your sister
accompanied by your nephew and cousin
that plunged us all slowly into the murky
brown sweetly bitter depths of rebirth
able to see clearly but unable to tell anyone...
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