Amy Winehouse

The radio didn’t do it justice
a raspy smoothness,
turned in on itself.
Like a bent blade of grass.

Shadows are always darker
when you’re not casting them.

Light pours on her corpse.
It is easy to criticise, but if you’ve not died
100 times, then how can you understand.

We listen and watch, take what we need.
Place a dark pebble on the beehive
& walk away.