How strange it is
to watch people you love suffer
to see them shake over and ruin
like too much salt,
and the look of favorite foods graying with all too little effort;
bones built on loose snares
and cymbaled lungs,
pupils drought and bruised with
dreamless mares.

Wilting in spring is a spectacle
to never wander upon
with loose thoughts or
deaf ears
but you may hold it safe,
even too tightly.