You Gone.

You've gone. I mean you're gone. You didn't
have a say.
I don't believe you're anywhere and
while they pray

I picture you. The images push
forward one
to stand for all the rest, and when that's
sort of done

On a sonnet

Happily
happiness doesn't know justice
It comes when it wants
and it wants unjustly

Time for you to withdraw into the rustle
of black silk attire
rather than to dress up in smiles
But is it your fault
that like rain it caught you on the road by surprise
that you didn't have time to cover your silver head

And now you stand like a lonely tree
open to all the winds and birds

And now you shine like a lake
and whether you want to or not
you reflect the sky