December 01, 2012
A Matter Of Record
I have never seen anyone die.
I have never seen the spirit leave the burnt body.
I do not know what sound is caught
from the throat, and I'm sure it's not
one I would want
to hear twice -
then the stony heart,
a lack of beauty that comes to stay,
unattractive expedients,
vast disappointments.
More sadness fills the room -
enough to die of right there -
unless you believe that
after Sundown, comes Sunrise.
After the Sunset,
as a matter of record, I am told,
it comes up gold.
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Acknowledgement: Casa Menendez, Sounds Like Something I Would Say