Death | A Sonnet: Conch

                             For Kevin*


The conch’s pink carapace sighs salt water

and memories: the trickle of a spring,

unruly sprays of standpipes flickering,

a cat-eyed marble’s gold-amber glitter;

small rainbows in a restless August sky.


The way we were: hand in warm hand, summer

rain beading from your dark architecture,

youthful, supple; your voice bassing for miles

reaching Venezuela’s faraway shores –

your desire to leave this life as deep

as ocean.


And one day, you woke from sleep

spilled into the tide as foam & particles

of light. Now, you are the conch’s canticle;

its lips cradling the seasons, my heart, yours.



* Names and some identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.


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