(for AKR)

She drank.
Love was impossible
while she lived.

Now she is dead.
Adds another layer
with which to contend.

Is she out of focus,
outside of the frame,
vibrating at mad frequencies?

Certainly, less ridiculous
than you and me
losing our context.

Fading from one century
into one less hospitable.
Nothing certain about us –

but our date & place of birth.
Might we become real
in death?

To men like us
only the dead
seem real.