your black heart finally rewrote
itself, and you knew it throughout
dear friend, you knew it
black, that bled through to true
you cut and erased
the trial, the sentence
you knew it was all a joke
the arrested, the penitent
and still the fire burnt
I remember you
earnestly, nakedly
flamboyant in a
somnambulant town
how my heart leapt to meet you
and our laughter intertwined
never once did you complain to me
as cancer ended your life
the painter who wrote,
“poetry is not a noun”