Night
Follows day,
Another night.
Death plays his bone whistle.
They gather round.
Their low notes of mourning
Subsume the shriller octaves
Of his precocious assumption.
Another day,
Another night.
His lurid skull rises
Above the Eastern horizon.
Hand joins hand, clasped tight,
And limbs, with sweet flesh enflamed,
Crackle his ascendance.
Another day,
Another night.
His hollow shin-bone beats
Upon the quaking marrow of the world
The slow chime of their macabre minuet
Stamping their seven steps in time
Upon the living dead.
Follows day,
Endless, endless night.
