Elegy

Conserve: Mass. (money) Matter.
Energy. Draw close that which does not

die until it does. Hold anything
still privileged with skin. The drum. The boy.

Because everything hits
the ground. The funeral

only does what physics asks
of it. I find a ladybug on my sneaker’s worn leather.
Newton rotates like a planet in his (g)rave.
I only balance what can fit in my hands.

—By Imani Davis