The dead must breathe sometimes,
inhale their memories,
let them sink quietly
scrub them clean,
until like bone,
they shimmer in the dark.
copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2016
Process Note: This piece has been hanging around in this short form for a while now. I am not sure it is a poem yet, but every time I try to expand it into something longer, I fail. So for now, I will share it with you as it is and see if it morphs into something else later.
Posted for Poets United Pantry