I slept late, for no apparent reason;
the day moved on without me
moving in it. And I thought
how like death, this obscure
absence... even to those
who haven't really vanished.
As for my psuedo-missing presence
dreaming in its linen sheets, there were
no sorrows, lamentations, tearful prayers
nor funeral or ashes spread; instead
the sweetest yellow daffodils
that often line the altar of a final
sleeper's bed were still outside-
growing in my garden.