Is this what writers do?
Conjure the worst then set you there, contorting
to listen for the beauty that sings in suffering?
Your boiling body fights, trembling
and next to you in darkness, brooding
I see the struggling and the worst
and imagine your beauty
As a memory that enters a room
full of mourners-
sunlit breeze captured
in billowing fabric
which turning and holding
you there for a moment
lets you go
as the tears and chatter