CRIES

I write these words
to exist you

trap you
in this mesh

of consonants &
vowels

flesh you out
into sounds

here you are again
dressed in your yellow dress

a marigold
held between finger and thumb

offered to me
your young son

the old man
who now

writes to keep you
alive

until the pen
falls from his hand

and he cries

he cries

cries.