no answer

When the green phlegm boils up, I swear at the culture of death, the brain dead
doctors, the cavern hospitals, tables filled
with basement bodies. Then the doctors off to Italy.

afterwards when I walk for years alone, no
longer breathing you in, smelling
you, then the tears.
i grieve to the flowers.
i breathe in the pure earth.

Take these tears I say and return.

Red rose, temporary respite.

Often I stop and look for others, 

Hyacinth, Lilac, Lilies. Then
The moan, the tears, the broken
Blue eyes.