The New Angels

eyes a wide aperture    
                           overexposed

                 This is a picture
         of my Grandma

             This is where I was

When everything is washed-out

white is whole
                              complete
         like the new angels

                         when she died
       in the mountains

Why do we dream in monochrome

                    I remember vivid
        the mountains
                       the tangy pine

             only the new angels see as is
as we are still
         dreaming in earth tones

                          how close I felt
                  how far she was

sleeping in dust and clay

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