If my words sought to speak
what these last moments had said
such a vignette would, instead, be a memoir,
Yet for all which detail does describe,
detail possesses not a syllable
for watching someone dear die
Nor will death dare return their voice
to speak just once more—
knowing not whether death deals such a choice—
But if my words could reach them as before
my lips would utter no goodbyes,
just shout your name to the skies.
