Dearly Beloved

We are gathered here today
to mark the passing of death;

Death-of-the-Inside,
the clinging fear
and the dénsed darkening,
nurtured since birth
that says

“No.
Not good enough.”

Mark well what you’ve missed
and what remains,
what you thirst for
and even what’s flayed your soul at night.
For this is all a kind of prayer.

So then stay with me awhile
after these words,
and we’ll lay our flowers and shadows
under the arms of the earth.

The tears of the air
tamp the ground,
erasing even our footprints,
and there will be no markers or epitaphs.

Say it now, and say you all so.

This dawn I sense beating draws close;
so I’ll join you at the wake,
when the clock strikes sunlight.

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