The shape of fire, where
a flicker abandons the ember.
Dirt at the border, the last person
killed in a war.
The way the first letter of your
name sounds when someone speaks it.
The curve where the brown
of your eyes turns to black.
When a child glances
upon the vulnerability of their parents.
The year that they forgive them.
The moment when a moth realizes death is imminent.
The bottom plank of your coffin nestling into the ground.
The final drop of water from ablution trickling down your body.
The crevice of a cracked mirror, jagged edges turning soft,
finally meeting my own gaze.