Death called my name
some time ago, asking

for a gift I would not
give, words I would not

whisper, ashes offered
to a mid-May sky, a girl

I cry for on summer days  

rolling like a lake trolled
as a child, doorknob lure 

swallowed whole gutted
by milk glass hands, head- 

less they know my despair,
flesh tickled pink w/ fresh

lemon zest, tasting of dill.