As the Crow Flies
I am tired
of trying
to make sense
of your death.
Maybe I should
dye my hair.
Maybe I should
buy red lipstick.
Maybe I should
go
for a drive
aimlessly
fiddle
with the radio
until a song
comes on.
Then I
remember
you
and look
out the
window
at a crow
flying above
a golden field.
That doesn't
help
because
all I see
is your
feather
black
beard.
Posted 09/14/12