Timothy Liu Sad Sonnet Done Sometimes a halo, sometimes armored with an electron field of gnats at sundown, the gas mower enlarging your carbon footprint by at least two sizes and the kid won't yet be grown for a few seasons more. Please know I kept the cigarette butts you flung off the back porch for as long as I possibly could until a fuzzy beard of mold overtook that vodka-soaked memorial—my lips touching down where yours had been.