Gedicht

Here
Everything extraneous has burned away
this is how burning feels in the fall
of the final year not like leaves in a blue
October but as if the skin were a paper lantern
full of trapped moths beating their fired wings
and yet I can lie on this hill just above you
a foot beside where I will lie myself
soon soon and for all the wrack and blubber
feel still how we were warriors when the
merest morning sun in the garden was a kingdom after Room 1010 war is not all
death it turns our war is what little
thing you hold on to refugeed and far from home
oh sweetie will you please forgive me this that everytime I opened a box of anything
Glad Bags One-A-Day KINGSIZE was
the worst I'd think will you still be here
when the box is empty Rog Rog who will
play boy with me now that I bucket with tears
through it all when I'd cling beside you sobbing
you'd shrug it off with the quietest I'm still
here I have your watch in the top drawer
which I don't dare wear yet help me please
the boxes grocery home day after day
the junk that keeps men spotless but it doesn't
matter now how long they last or I
the day has taken you with it and all
there is now is dark the only green
is up by the grave and this little thing
of telling the hill I'm here oh I'm here


Paul Monette, Love Alone: 18 Elegies for Rog, 1988