Tears splatter, fall, splash up from,
Contact on, concrete, a little pale square on a street,
Littered with them, squares of pink stars, petrichor
From all the tears, candle-lit, cameras stopped rolling-
About an hour ago. Before the roses, before the ipod left
To play the songs writ by the dead, mind stalled, music dead
As dead as the artist mirror-touching that star, as if
They can touch and sense the memories we left
As if the camera crews had any idea of the intent-
Of the connection with him, what we left there
On a cold street in Hollywood.