You sit outside language now              
& I think of everything unsaid —       

your brink       &   beating tide
the lilac of your mornings.

I know you in fragments — 

Your Capuchin
Sheep   Parrot   Pelican —

they didn’t have names!

I frame your photo                    
attend you
                            from a distance. 

Imagine     orange
flowers wilting      in the heat
at your mother’s
unattended funeral.

I couldn’t go back for her’s
so I wouldn’t go back for anyone else’s. 

Wear black
when I learn your Indian name
light incense,
             let you be whole with your secrets.

That’s Roshni, isn’t it? 

In the silence             

I hold a nib of your life’s words 

& claim    &    claim.