for Stephanie

How can I write a sestina for you
six stanzas of six lines concluding death
killing yourself in a three-line envoy
I, who doesn't know the time of day
when the lines of your life were diverted
to lie low in the blue-stoned soil.

Reliving grief, my hands delve in the soil
moulding a clay figurine of you.
Retracing the black paths that diverts
my gaze away from sunset to death.
A photograph of you on your wedding day
your smile did not convey loves envoy.

Was it back then that the messenger
whispered phlegmed words that soiled
you soul to fall early to your funeral day?
did a touch reach out and abuse you
fondling filthy caresses to die
out there on the back roads where diverted

diversions took you
round and round
to fall foul of the dead end?