Fifty two years ago my mother, Maxine, passed away at the age of thirty-two. The passage of time has barely dulled the sense of utter destruction of my seven-year old world. This poem is in honor of her memory, and a love that has neither dulled nor died.

Allen Ginsberg championed this form of poetry and its haiku-like use of seventeen syllabies.

Thank you, Bertodi, for the perfect artwork.

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