And another of his disciples said unto him, Lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father. But Jesus said unto him, Follow me; and let the dead bury their dead.
– Matthew 8:21-22
Illusions of the Dead
Beyond these barren dunes of life, I know
you walk in splendored gardens, sheathed about
with memories exploded inside-out
like roses, growing where no roses grow.
It follows you should madden at my touch,
should shun my eyes, avoid my plaintive wail,
should drape across your eyes that pallid veil
which filters “endless” into “not so much.”
O heed my fading voice, you silent ghouls,
and shut your eyes to heaven’s empty husk.
Beyond this gloried, golden-shuttered dusk,
the endless dark of close and troubled souls.
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