what has to be done lee

respond, said ruby-
leaving us as
she died in the door way
loving the
cafeteria, the passionate
jello
translucent,
rhythmed by
the ribboned train of florescent
lighting
knowing something of pudding ,
she
had all her yesterdays and one
more
tomorrow lined up
right
there
like
storm clouds,
like
sage, at
the foot of
prayer ------------------------>
as if the robins egg blue : sky
echoed the last
scrumptious notion of food
where
the whalebone children
where born
running-
music in their heads weaving
evenly
the sharp knowledge that
came to harm them
into
knotted
copper rugs
given
subtle instruction,
spoken
a mothers tongue-
rolls, holds
shores full of
delicate
urchins
rocks hold lichen
for
bears breath fills with
fog horns and sponge
cacophony
ghosts
where the far away
tube holds the melody
how lost can we
be
hoping
for
final
quiet the
dawn holds
us at its pre-being
where: me, she , and i have
grown
our oldest
in the tissue light,
under sea green night
a dream blunt
in morning sky.