I remember
the comfort
of being held
by him
when I wept-
the money
he sent me
from college.
He was a baby
when I climbed into
his crib to sleep
beside him.
Was that when
it all began?
Dead all these years
He still lives
under my skin.
Yearning,
I follow
the curves
of the river,
hierogplyhs
in the sand,
hungering
for
a body
I lost.
