suicide poem

as a white candle
little gate was reached at last
the earth keeps some vibration going
take my bracelets
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
gone are the three, those sisters rare
there is no flock, however watched and tended
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
be in me as the eternal moods
just now
over the river they beckon to me
the air is like a butterfly