The moment I knew for sure;
the contorted grimace of your face
as rigor drew back the corners of your mouth:
such memories I can endure.
The biology of decay;
the physics of the crematorium:
I can live with such knowledge.
Theology? Such questions
as concern the stuff of death
have always been the stuff of life for me.
What writhes in my heart like a tapeworm
is yesterday your being, and today not.
Such a thin film, thin as the glaze
of tears, yet impenetrable as the faraway look
in an unseeing eye. . . .
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