Breadcrumb #533

COOPER WILHELM

Moths, moths, moths.
The grandmother who still smiles out from a turnip carved
to be mostly teeth and watching, to house a heat and shimmer
that will leave it just like it leaves all things
can help you. You leave this unburied knot, this knob,
a glass of water, every night, and let it prove to you
the people you love are not lost,
that you in seeking out the voices of the dead
are found enough forever.

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