today, holding your death’s
small hand, black-nailed
inside your much larger hand
leading it here, you
lay down with it
under the black
and somewhere behind the dance
you’d carried your death a long time
and each day
more of it grew large and less of you
until the coat you’d shaped so well, fell in
with no one to hold the sleeves out straight
it buckled and sank
and lay in its last strong pose
mouth empty, eyes turned inside out
then death stood carefully up
stood looking down at you
stood off a little way
and understood
its joggling bones would now go coatless
its name, even, would be spoken unclothed
death – as stark as that
so, cautiously
trying it out, death walked off
walked away, naked, left you there
in the hollow behind the words
quietly folded
under the black, and somewhere
behind the dance
(28 October 1998)
