Last Journey

You wanted to be covered 
with dahlias, unmeasuring― 
the depth of tears. 


How do I go finding 
an elegy― 
in dim moonlight? 

En route I will pluck 
the stars, in September. 

And when the river goes in spate 
and you are submerged, 
I will spread a blanket of poetry. 

Who wants the eternity 
of soul. My love was very frail.