I remember you crying under April's bleached blossoms
with some of them in your hair,
your tears fell like rocks into my hands
and burned to the touch,
you screamed but I couldn't hear
over the numbness of the wind
and the unquiet hum of nothing,
you faded and melted with tall grass,
I didn't know if you were praying or dying
or singing the songs you used to,
the ones with quiet melodies
like a bird breathing wind and ranging,
you softened and were gone
but left nothing to remember
if your dress was white or black.

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