still they come
little deaths
we have much
to bury, yet –

letter from maine
coffee dark
morning, past
eleven – it’s been
so long, she kept saying
your cat, she said
cancer
darling

our cat darling
thumbs
and tiger stripes.

glancing
around the room
the window covering
my mouth how
it came out, up
through corners
knowing
this is part of it –
the finishing
of things.