Returning Your Message

Don’t let me go. 
over the cork, a bottle 
fights for the fluids 
to flow out. 

No apology to 
feel you. There was 
no death in the night. 
A sun lies down beside me. 

The flesh was disappearing. 
A blue star alights, 
to make a landmark 
for the climbers. 

No regrets 
for the crunch of dry leaves 
when you walk on the 
grave of the witch doctor.