At the funeral / the priest said, our sister enters the gates of paradise / in a company of angels.
I am here, / your daug.
Mom, the fingers of the dead / woman play as if in some paradise, paradise, and / your mouth pinkens to breathing red and smiles.
Ive built / a fire.
The snow is melting.
This is for you.
Tomorrow is your / birthday.
Snow.
From this room I see snow.
Mom, were you waiting? / I have no mother, your mothers gone, and / the you that lives on, me, I must learn she is / enough.
At the funeral / the priest said, our sister enters the gates of paradise / in a company of angels