Bar · si—
it is blackened soul murmuring bad news & “we could have done more” but there’s nothing more to be done. it is sorry for your loss melding with “haven’t texted in you in a year” & morning dew mimicking stubborn drops of blood-tears on eyelashes. already i have lost you—i didn’t even know you. did i? it is for the living / dead / middling ones because who remembers dates like this in the graveyard? you are busy with our god & angels interrogating you—were you good enough?

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       barsi is for the living & perhaps the dead don’t remember that.

Bar · zakh—
waiting is nothing extraordinary. it is something like hospital hallways like blood being drawn like hair falling into pillowcase into floor-maze-of-tiles into trash can into fake wig. it is like dirt thrust upon you like uncaring block slab of name etched in & wondering dreaming pleading with god. let me in. we often wonder what we did

       wrong & what karma / god / universe / other sacrilegious thoughts has against us.

       almost to heaven & barzakh is almost peace. almost.