(no subject)

[disquisitionist]

You died and also, almost more
set me up to deceive me as I tried to sleep
above, or in, or beyond
And that was there, and this is now
and the plants are beautiful, darling.

Everything is lovely but a divorce,
thought romanticized about contentment,
you were more

Each day digs up new holes, who bore
deep into my abdomen,
the next years' garden bed -
it was our own.

Woe or let me ruin it,
lovers aplomb or sycophants
will no help only
in its midst.

January is en estuary
for nest, gone home.
You died, it was almost even more.