Acute humans, lonely in angles.
Attempting life, death in bedsits adept
while the children they might have had
move by, skipping dead futures in the sunlight.

Cries like mice unborn, alive as ibis dead, 
the yet to be, the much too soon. The swears
on their behalf. So many meanings please just

let them die a life, form a death so lovely
that souls gather like apes upon a pond
of ripe fruit, swimming in ashes.