in the deep under

on the wall she walked

heel to toe

balancing arms spread wide

looking out ahead

in the peripheral, a vastness 

swirling 

in the deep under

waiting for the sun of summer

March will mark brother’s passing 

twenty-two years hence 

now it’s Birdie’s gotcha day

one year of sweetness 

April would have been 

sister turning sixty 

if she hadn’t passed at fifty 

now it’s Birdie turning three-years

May would have been 

brother turning fifty-nine

if March hadn’t happened 

now it marks my two-year

leaving 

mulligan please

learning to swim

I sank grasping the sides

in a deep end darkly 

touching forks to sockets

live

in sense searching 

for a sunny space

for all the flowers 

of deep hues hoarded

in the hours

of disassociation

since