Mausoleum


The most dangerous 
time comes
when it begins
to mean something: death,

for example, like
humidity, has to soak
through the skin.
But death is just

death and not like
a small rest before
climbing up to the gallows--
one last smoke,

one last moment
of _intent_,
and then the blue
tiredness of sky

without end.  No, death
is just a small lapse
in attention, a foot
slipping off the brake.

Everything you want
to tell me, tell me
and this dark bread
on this table. It means

nothing, it means water
and wheat.  It poisoned
the birds who dropped
like people from the sky.