When my sister comes to visit
she’s quiet as a shadow
sliding across the ceiling,

quiet as wet trees
hanging their heads
like horses in the rain.

She wears fresh lipstick,
which goes against
all the laws of science.

I think of telling her
that I read Ecclesiastes
at her funeral

but she stands composed
and quiet as a silk scarf
in a glass case,

her hair dark,
the way it was
when we were younger,

then she fades away
gradually, like a boat
emerging from white mist—