being animate things

that shine on after we’re gone

like a toppled buddha.

There was a time we thought

mom would live forever because

of her hard work at making people happy

in her vivid and lucid dreams she

attempted to fulfill.

But alas, the house is empty

no longer yielding to her touch,

as faceless fear crept around her circle

when banging doors stirred the dust

from the hourglass, broken, sand

trapped in a shadowed box of iniquity

smelling like old rain,

warm in the sunlight.