someday i’ll love katherine fu

but until then, we can mourn something
that is not quite dead, daisy necks bent away from
the sun.

Here is the clay, here is the hand, and here is
the time to start anew.
Take your fingers,
fingers through hair like dry backyard reed
Crackling under a black-bean sky and
savor the space between a sigh

and a Swallow. the hitch
at the end of a forever loop.
remember the shape of a
Tuesday
         gone
                        to
                        waste?
I do.
what once was is not always
what now will be.
I promised you we'd
walk into the sun;
some day when your plaster skin
runs out of dust and grief,
oh,
silly Pristine death mask,

we can become something
    new.