To a Burnt Friend

Because the night is silent, the trees will search for a voice, the wind will fill a body with lamentations. Forgive me, I drank a lost gone wine as the blade marked your body. There is nowhere to clear the mind without itching the throat, nowhere to wash our body in clean water. There was mockery on the spot where your hand touched the blood on your cloth, the voice said,you are fallen ashes, a mirror of something unnatural. This was the point I ought to have poured water over your burning body. I am saying the earth ate the moon last night.