His body crouched    into the shell 
       of a memory and was neatly packed
              like a parcel from Amazon

And for days  months 	years
I've been wearing my tears like a scarf
			night after night

as if watering the pillow is a ritual
	a ritual just for remembrance
though nothing grows there
	not even a blade of grass

		Unlike my barren place
	a home		 but not a home
which could have been a cemetery as well
		the shell is moss-covered

	Perhaps the tears reach the shell
	through some secret channel
		and rejuvenate the body

If this is the method to preserve it
	I shall water it all my life
with my endless embalming fluids