zip up your
white sepulcher, like
the wedding dress; seal it with the red signet ring,
& send out
206 letters
to the earth.

the curse placed on us
has been the constant reminder that the wind
still exists; that there’s a whisper that’s waiting
to pass on my message,
without a backward glance.

your handwriting i so wanted to imitate,
is teaching me to write an afterlife, back to the dust,
back to the wind,
back to God;

from me to you.