Last Things

To my Rose

When I die,

I want to be,

In a container,

With your love.

Let my soul,

 Sleep with yours.

Let what remains,

Of me,

Abide with what,

Remains of you.

I shall have,

No eyes,

So let the place,

Be any place,

As long as that place,

Is within you.

Vukovar

Guernica

Was so long ago.

We are not Guernica.

The world mourned us not.

No painting marks our deaths,

We take our children

To the grave

In silent mourning.

We patch our holes

And help the world

Forget our name.