Like death, when you go;
Don’t tell me so I wouldn’t know.
I will sleep like I sleep where
The secrets only in our moment we wore.
Every other lamb without a coat is told
That her innocence, though in soften flock, will
Be gathered, reaped like flakes.
It’s not entirely what the creator makes.
Like death, when you go,
Like a coffin I will watch, unmitigated,
And untouched by what the preachers know:
Canticles and fables of the afterlife.
One day this thin layer will break
And unawares the ground beneath will suffer.
There will be for evermore assurances, smiles,
Faith and a heart; without a will to offer.
When you go, bother not to
Re-enact that once open door.
I may sleep on to slumber, mantrize your number,
Close my eyes against the intervening glow.