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We buried her.

We buried her in May in the sun.

We buried her in the sun, a mouth.


We buried her in the parlance of the times, the sun, May.

We buried her in the parlance of death.


We buried her after she had fallen.

We buried her after her bones had become waterlogged, her eyes closed below the

falls.


We buried her with closed eyes below the sun.

We buried her with closed eyes and closed mouths below the sun.


We buried her closed eyes with mouths of flowers


We buried her with a casket.

We buried her with a casket, a liver.

We buried her in a casket in the liver of the hillside, flowers of sunlight in May.

We buried her in a casket in the parlance of the sun, the eyes, and the psalms.

We buried her in a casket of sun, tied to words.


We buried her after the stones, the water.


We buried her like water, with no light, just the stones of parlance.


We buried her feeding her to the light.

We buried her filling her with light.


We buried her and her laugh.

We buried her and her laugh in May, wishing flowers would parlance from her eyes.

We buried her and her laugh and our laugh trying not to cry.


We buried her in the name of light, eyes.


We buried her saying her name.

We buried her saying her name, a psalm, a parlance.

We buried her saying her name, knowing she was fit to be loved.


We buried her with pallbearers.

We buried her with pallbearers’ hands.

We buried her with pallbearers’ hands, cracked and fit and bare.

We buried her with pallbearers whose hands caught fire from the stillness of the

casket.


We buried her with gravity.

We buried her with gravity in a hillside below the sun.


We buried her gravity of words with the stillness of words that fall.

We buried her with the stillness of the words: casket light stone water words.


We buried her listening to words.

We buried her listening to words, all there was, all that remained.


We buried her in the hillside, its stone liver, amid the psalms amid the sun.


We buried her as the sun broke the hillside with fire.

We buried her as the sun broke the hillside.

We buried her as the sun broke.


We buried her wanting the sun to reverse the gravity that closed her eyes.


We buried her imagining her in our heads with our words.

We buried her escaping the images of her below the falls, face just above the water.


We buried her crying.


We buried her after the falls took her.

We buried her after the falls took her image to its mouth.

We buried her after the falls took her liver, her psalms.


We buried her after the psalms filled with words, burning words.

We buried her after the liver emptied of words.


We buried her according to parlance.

We buried her according to parlance, after seeing the casket.

We buried her to the parlance of water.


We buried her because we were still.

We buried her because we were stones on the hillside.


We buried her because we couldn’t keep her.




C.S. Carrier