she allowed that bit of earth to glisten
through her crank, screen window. her
soul began to glimmer, and her age began
to fade at the gallant glow of the glorious
rays. they showed off her spirit and
revealed what was said to be her golden
age. she was a pure form of genuine, an
exemplary of grace. she stood in the
kitchen, a glass in her hand; her head full
of spirit, her soul now in the guardian land.
there she lay on the floor in her tattered
nightgown, the juice glass shattered and
her face casting a frown; lifeless for sure.
for she left us that day in a flash, with a
bow, bidding goodbye to her loves and
good riddance to her town. “Live on lovely
lady.”, i whisper to you, in your unbodied
presence at the sight of your tomb.
- i fear losing her
the most
  - night terrors