A poem in your memory
has been long in coming -
dying alongside you
would have been the alliteration,
buried in the grave with you,
the aesthetic enjambment. . .
A mourner is an inveterate gravedigger.
But today I realized,
walking in your shoes,
touching the ground as You
dovetails poetically.
Poetry still has not arrived,
the shoes are here on the page,
the poem is strolling.
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