For Will on the 2nd anniversary of your dying and death
This morning I feel what it is
When pestle is at work
The death of what was
Into a finer powder of what is
Seed, bud, flower, leaves and roots
Even the aroma of you
The whole plant
The scent of you in my heart is fresh
Smooth, shaped to fit
Whatever vessel is available
Only the beauty
Even the thorns, only beauty
– Charlotte Nuessle, 4/3/26
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