AS I LAY DYING
And go down, Moses, and all the rest.
The wind is rustling the marsh grasses, yet
I can hardly see - my world has gone gray, a
pale and stone-colored place I now only
half inhabit. Spiritually, my loss is exacerbated
by your presence. The only light to be had is the
light of your minion's army. Take my arm, help me
up. The image before me is wavering : some weak,
shuddering native who has lived here before. He has
flame in the palm of his hands. The aura stretches
from his head to the far horizon. Lean me back
once more. Let me die here in peace.
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