Elegy Upturned

Even untended, the grass only grows so high.

Sunlight shows the gloomy drooping as it is,

gilding mournful descent in unmet potential;

the moon is more forgiving, coldness holding

one moment in place, sprawled and stargazing:

the constellations are unchanged.

Different patterns cross my desk,

new letters from you growing wild

like dandelions upon a grave.