poem about death

Poem, “A Dead Man’s Soliloquy”

I will return
In the wily spring
Of your memories,
Delayed, for a time,
By shuffling tasks
And the patient murmur
Of my still-pulsing heart.

It is the sleeping lilac
That defines me now,
Leading me gently
From the dull crowds
Of forgetting
To the plains of
Your fevered dream
That I am here
Dressed in my own
Lover’s stubbornness,
Unwilling, now,
To let you go.

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To Norman Farmer

You were here once
And then gone.
Some sinister plot,
I had assumed,
To keep me guessing
About the proper quest
To leave
Before the hostile
Bedroom light
Was dimmed
Or the tireless
Porch lamp,
In its summer languor,
Mumbling for sleep
Against the feathered clutter
Of anxious moths.
May 14, 2011

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