Like.
She never said look at that bush or look at the sea.
That's a beautiful bruised blue perpetually subsiding.
She drew my attention to only a few things, the last days,
a Redwood tree, the Grand Canyon.
What it's like to be me where "watch out" and "report back"
cross a stubborn eddy, a tendency to take exception.
How much of me could be lost while like remained.
Could like stand alone?
Does it?