One Mississippi Two Mississippi Three Mississippi 

When you died,
there was no cloud

where I could store
images of you.

No one scanned
the photos of you

I carried in
my wallet till

that New York subway
pickpocket swiped it

while I slept.
You wouldn’t have

closed your eyes.
Your closed eyes.

I didn’t know
how to wear the grief.

Didn’t know how
to live with it

just below the surface—
an electrical storm

that might erupt
at any moment.

And you would have
already calculated

the joules of energy released
before the next thunderclap.

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