Everything dies in whispers of
great forlorn abundance
ghosts gather in fields of thimbleberry
daisies pop through
frost bitten surface
to say hello
before death
These mired pines
hairy with age
coax words out of silence
over a canteen of black coffee with
sugar from 2013
the memory of great grandma
in her floral camp chair that
so sat grandfather
and now me
in a suspended state
The forlorn ghost of abundance
claims its victims
with an eternal unspokeness
glacial wombs melt
before daisies pop out to
say hello
before death