When the wind died
The wind drowned
and went to his grave.
I miss his infinite talk at night
and his cup of good air.
And where am I,
a person of honor,
to undertake the service
of the sea?
Poems on the topic: death
Poems on the topic “death” on Poets.by.
Midnight rider
Twelve o’clock, and I go hunting
with a tin box to carry
spice to the dead,
which trouble me;
get nothing and see little—
like a history of twelve at night.
Ingroup
Chamber us close
in the hand—one moiety.
Like the silent woman
on a playing card, I stayed
looking upon the gallows
and the hanged man.
Dead letter
After several walks
up and down, I met
with the dead.
Night is now too sudden—
an old hole.
What news of death?
They hear nothing at all,
believing that a house on fire
is home to music.
Witness
at noon an execution
the rain on my hat
all the way home
Matins
A morning where
I talk about death
though I do not believe
in mourning, grown
so old that I am ashamed
to be in the picture.
And she showed us
her cabinet where she had
very pretty prayers.
Time capsule
Morning and the road
get me to write letters—
an urn for the last days.
The drowned girl
The apothecary is making with
his hands as common as water
the bridge to absence
where she met
her little night.
Wine-dark sea
The sea is great company
but poor entertainment.
We go out
all in mourning,
believing it a sermon and a pall.
Clerking for Death
Clerks go to burial
like any other full
or ill business.
We talk gravely,
eat ink and point.
Ursa Major
We see
a convenient part.
The great bear
has nowhere to fall
and a moth is present at his dying.
Bilateral
I made myself a pair:
my clock and I,
my corpse and I
set forth together,
greedy to see.
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