Coated in black, looking at my own feet being swallowed by
the newly made mud, I will slowly straighten my sight,
looking at the wooden sarcophagus being carried from your
black hearse to the burial grounds. I will coat what remains
of my face with my clock and tuck it in as much as possible
before grappling the attendants' attention. With their eyes
set on my obscure figure merging with the darkness I will
begin reciting a sad poem I have written in my darkest hour,
when I found you were gone.
I will seal it with a kiss on the paper, nimbly put on your
coffin, and vanish as an anonymous poet aching more than any
other.