I realize the skyline while playing catch with mother’s death
Monday night, she got dressed in the wind under an apple tree
and whistled an in-your-face melody through the cemetery.
She was not content to be the kid in a planet of an apple tree,
though dead for half a century and ever faster swaying.
Instead, she lived with punctured-wires and lit candles
in the grave of the great alley of clarity cats.
Natural disasters have since contented these events on the floor,
these things she reported while wandering the halls.
She thought there was an architect of the secret of life,
but found that we were reading the scattered conditions
of every other any body. No wonder I regarded her as enemy.
In fact, it brought her alive and I pressed her to tell me more.