He is blind, that grim and rawboned god,
black smoke,
and the world now dark –
he didn’t see me
flat behind the back of the creature,
my lamp clapped dim
between our bodies.
Or did I put it out?
I would ask – lift my tongue
into your matted hair –
if I thought you cared to, or could,
answer with any sort of luminous
word.
The sound of death’s footsteps
made me forget almost everything.
Yet he passed,
and did his sullen work
to lift the wooden hatch,
as the night rumbled forward on its track
toward the round horizon.
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