May 12, 2011

Death Watched




Death stood outside
and watched
as your surgeon
with his guessing knife 
opened you up again
the sound of your healing stitches
picked against your aging skin
must have been as loud and dry
as plastic rope hesitating under a blunt
razor.

Reciting a prayer
I set night’s long fingers
to touch you

the velvet black curtain
that will not draw.