Virelai to a Dead Child

Tousled hair and trusting eyes,
tender lips that chastise lies,
scrambling limbs, a hand that pries
into window with no key;

bright and winsome while he dies,
the endless whys,
never asking to be free;

terrified and shameful cries
below the skies,
dripping from a soot-stained tree;

watching while his body dries,
kissing corpses as goodbyes,
waiting for his blood to rise
and for him to run to me;

tousled hair and trusting eyes,
tender lips that chastise lies,
scrambling limbs, a hand that pries
into windows with no key.