For Michiel

In The Grass


i breathe in, steady and sweet.
inhaling the dust that was once part of him.

occupying the space is his mouth,
one that i love but not because it's
like my own,

but because it's different.
but because of the "what-isnt-theres"
the interstices carved between nose and bow


i choke out his name


in the dead of our night
comes the answer
before a question is formed,
in three perfect syllables:
go cards go.