Now I know,
there are blacker
things than sadness;
the departure of my shadow
steaming in the light
that wounds it,
the recall of a life
too eager to remove
itself from brilliance,
the stubborn
embers of a flame-
now I see
the emptiness of silence,
how it drills meaning
through my bones.
What is joy
and who can find it
hidden in the soul?
For now, I listen
to the roses, wait
for signs of my extinction...
a guest whose invitation
is a road, a door, a mirrored
vision of estrangement
like words that
will be written
on my stone.
