We can only imagine that the child went softly,
aaaaaaafound some comfort in those flowers he is gripping,
hardened now to fossils, while his fingers
are dust.
If there is something to add,
supply it here,
for even beneath the earth, one day there will be nothing left to hold onto.
I want to practise this life.
I want to get it right.
I want to know what it feels like.
When the woman performs the
tea ceremony. And buries her children with immortal plants.