lament for Steve Jobs

I found the body of death so small it was sweet.

It lay at my feet to fit in my hand, keeping both eyes open to look up at the tree.

I held it in my hands.

I weighed its weightlessness.

I became the god of what I'd never known; my bones turned to feathers and the feathers drifted away without me.

I listened to what was not singing and heard their songs.

It was like I'd found a little bird, somewhere in the woods and was holding it as it found a new way to fly.