Stone, Paper, Scissors
i.m.  Ondine - 20:8:03-12:03:04

You have not turned to stone

and yet it is as stone

that we must show you outward

to the world.  Naming

you was not hard, we chose

a name that meant all things

that dazzle and move and wave;

small but unending—Ondine.

But finding a form to carve

to remember you by is hard.

It is not that forms or words

are fixed, but that they slip

and meanings multiply,

while you mean only you.

Your radiance will not sleep,

You cannot turn to stone.

Here are the slips of paper

where you lived your paper-

life.  They are too few.

Birth certificate.

Death certificate.

I want to see the rest:

a ticker-tape parade,

a paper-shower of life:

your driving licence, swimming

awards, your grade three flute—

all, all are floating

through the air and out

of reach.  I want the rest.

I want to hold the book

of you.  You would be soft,

whole, warm.  Not paper.

I am using scissors to cut

a square around your face

to frame.  These are sharp

scissors, new scissors:

no stone will blunt them.