The Last Wish

The vortice,
purple and fudge play-weaver,
		the lost scarf.

It blew in the primordial wind
	of the dull and playful earth,
alternative childhood, memories of Death
			well up the tears,
sheathed in last metal
	embraced Mother’s thin-lipped
			vinegar smile.

Her cancer was resolved,
sad bones of Life, was the ancient dust.
The transients moon
		the building sleep
			longingly for Death.

A profound treasure, only to be lucky,
to be old enough to be Nowhere
	without breath,
		thrust into Forever.