CW: mention of death, cremation

When the heat in the cremation oven 

shut your body, you left 

the least of you;

my dear, black as Espresso Proust,

black is you.

Looking at the interjection,

a stray cat’s ears 

twitched for the headlights

groping every moment, non-stop;

moment, deep as Espresso Proust,

black is the moment yet to reach.

Each time it came back 

                      as a different raindrop,

               a different drought,

          a different night.

Unlock the door, now unbutton your shirt;

lost time, bittersour as Espresso Proust,

black is the golden froth of time.

Once, I saw a drop of ocean,

one side of its surface tilted 

by a flock of loons, the spiral wings of a typhoon

reach out to the continent;

a drop, dark as Espresso Proust,

black is every drop.