They wouldn’t tell us how
though we asked,
and asked, and asked.
They kept the knowledge in them
and words too barbed to breathe,
could only settle into silence-
nearly glimpsed beneath an eyelash
a look away, but only then a guess
at how a set of waves could stop.
In the end,
that you were dead,
was all we had to know. A train,
a knife, those pills. Just hollow wraiths
inside the hole
you perforated in your landscape.
The landscape we were part of.
The hole
we’d always have to walk around.
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