Bodies made solid by weights succumb
to illness. Years of focused practice
lost in that afternoon of neglect.
What we are felt after the fact--
walls with his name graffitied on them,
late night actors who could've been
his double. Dolls left in a drawer
unopened for years like those boxes
of books in the attic that became
our inheritance. The things loved least
loved at last. Weather vanes renewed
by wind. But the former tenants are gone.
Our words a bridge. Just as my kiss
once sealed the tomb of his empty mouth.
Timothy Liu
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