It would be words, undone at last
by your caption, the high life
loosed like the fire of sudden
blossoms blazing bright on
a familiar hillside or nearby field,
deft and effortless in each
seam and stitch, the gifts
you incarnate, the skills you
reveal smiling as you sweep
another world aside,
every blessing burning
sipped softly in frame as
scraps and tatters are lifted,
the wind rising as if carried
upon your breath, beautiful in
this distance set like a slab
upon an untended grave.