From my neighborhood but I
See you as a contradiction, fictional even,
Basically existing on another plane than this one- that I’m on.
I stand behind you at the funeral,
Black fabrics draping us like makeshift uniforms,
Your head hung low like mine,
Separate lines of interconnection
Linking one to the next, but sharing all in grief,
A common territory that the living inhabit, graveside.
So shall we all be lowered down to common ground
With the slow creaking of the ropes that fix us now.
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