Jeremiad

Now I know,
there are blacker
things than sadness;

the departure of my shadow
steaming in the light
that wounds it,

the recall of a life
too eager to remove
itself from brilliance,

the stubborn
embers of a flame-

now I see the emptiness
of silence, how it drills
meaning through my bones.

What is joy
and who can find it
hidden in the soul?

For now, I listen
to the roses, wait
for signs of my extinction...

a guest whose invitation
is a road, a door, a mirrored
vision of estrangement

like words that
will be written
on my stone.