I wish I could recreate you with pen strokes,
turn paper and ink
into blood and bone,
punctuation and diction
to muscle and nerve.
Death never seems fair
but this,
this sticks —
If I could write you to life,
spine become spine,
binding to skin,
margin and gutter
to sense and sinew,
cover to cover
your book would already be filled.I would hold you in my hands,
feel your weight, your smell,
and then maybe
I could feel
that there is hope–
we are not all
lost
-dm