I’d like to name all of those
I’ve loved and lost.
But they’re not all mine for the naming.
Those ones that I’ve loved who stayed
were never mine for the taming.
The litany of names grows
louder each year.
More candles to light. And the
furnace of my grieving pyre glows
ever brighter
threatening to implode leaving
me, a black hole.
Tenacious is my name and I
will not let go of my dead yet.
(c) Liz Willows 2000
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