Obituary

As a child
he loved to be buried
alive in wild leaves
come autumn
a tumulus of orange
red, yellow
would lie quietly as a king
inside his burial mound
as our hands dropped fluttering
starred flakes of blood and gold
across his laugh
last of all
I remember your eyes
glittering
otherworldly
Why come to see you
buried bitterly today
without the colors
we all possessed then

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