This is a first draft, it's not done, but I just don't care.

I'm really upset...


You most sacred dead
who passed like night songs
sung by migrating birds
now extinct
except in recollections and dreams
captured, digitized.
A static memory fades.

On feather wings headed south,
you announced autumn
too quickly for yourself
and me.

Why do you walk in legions
those sad smiles soft upon your face?
captured on creased Kodak paper
are you the dust or the photograph?

I still recall your hands in the darkness
soft on my skin like
those not yet gone.
You hold so much of my fear.

Who are you, most sacred dead,
who pass like mist in the morning.
left sick in your wake,
I cannot close my eyes,
But never cease to dream.

You sacred dead
you’re perpetually turning away
leaving no footprints for me to follow
through the barren snowfield of time.