Trembling of Suicide

What I don’t know is where
you lay
Dissolving wings into traces of light
And I watch the children you breathe
among the landscapes of miniature
porcelain strawberries
I noticed the morning and its sound
I noticed the scar
on your wrist as
the palms rise
To catch each tear
Then I figured what was real
the blood wrinkled on the post
remember?
And I gently press my lips,
upon the scar
on your wrist as
the palms rise
to catch each tear from isolation