Lying in your death mystery
You watch with closed eyes
My walk toward you
I am alone save for the ghosts of grief.
They take my hands and place them on your silenced lips
And you speak to me of the pricking of the spindle.
I anoint your spirit with my tears
And mourn the amputated loss of you.
( I was asked to write a lament for a father
Whose son had fatally overdosed)