To Pass On
It’s never right
never the same twice
never the same slice
of silence
Jennifer had golden hair
often laced, in spring, with
pointed yellow petals
she was, to the land, and us,
a star tulip
But now, she’s a thought
crusted & dry in need
of wine and more silence
The task is not pleasant
between moments
I need tools — and education
as to their proper use