The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth, –
The sweeping up the heart
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.
The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth, –
The sweeping up the heart
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.
If self is sin and other is life
Then I swallow the dank air of the former daily
All the while knowing the score
Yet still motionless
On the floor
Occasionally the mind flutters
The flickering flame bellows hope
And in doing so
Drys up my energy
Before I ever get out the door
Light is wrapped in grace
It shines seemingly out of reach
While my brain channels Dickinson
Sequence unravelling
Like balls upon a floor