You Did Not Die

Photo by Jesse Orrico on Unsplash

In mourning for
I woke and you were here.

Nor afternoons,
all golden and swallows.

Evening, then?
With purpling bruises and
sighs?

No, rather,
under the eaves of eleven.

And every time she said,
You are not worth
anything.

I think that must have been
when you died.