death of a boy

the cigarette ash floats
on sanguine water;
heading nowhere, now that
the ripples have stopped.

while the cigarette itself-
a stub on green tile-
slips in with hand attached.

he is the metaphor of youth:
the inevitable ending of
start fast, end slow.

i enter like death,
somewhere between his breaths
that i can still hear,
as if not witnessing this
would make it undo itself.

i can feel the weight of the
scythe on my mind
as it drops,

an infinity known,

and rises
with another being on the end,
formed like a pearl.

he sits in the white orb of him,
on bodies of those before.

as i sink down,
the scythe empties itself
of all but the newest.