forty years

as spring blooms
died
before summer even started
she fell into this
new season
no applause
unnoticed
all her white outfits
left behind
in the attic
dust of her memory
no one here
to hold her
make everything okay
and even though
nothing ever was really okay
only now she knows
a half life is better
than no life
at all
she knows
she knows
even if she doesn't even know
the name of the other woman
her scent
the way her hair would look
in the summer breeze
her smile
beneath neon city lights
the way she would look
forty years from now
when all are one
and one are all
in the ground
or at the doorstep
of the cold cold ground
and one can see the meaning
of meaninglessness
of futility
self-importance
as spring blooms
died
before summer even started
she combed out her long black hair
put on the only clean clothes she could find
rolling stones lick me t shirt
faded cut off jean shorts
size too small
give or take
spat out the pit
of an overripe peach
took out the shovel from the garage
and smiled at her neighbors
before summer even started

nebulous monuments to finitude 

and one in the oven