18.
       

If the head were the lord of the body,
it would never rest. But rise and fall,

as suns fall, only to crown the night
with want, loss, words that are the children of loss.

It would stare at suicide letters, heavy
in our hands, or close our eyes in prayer

to the dark of ink that brought us to it.
Death and I, we dreamed of being here

together, but our names broke down before us.
I apologize to those whose names I forget,

whose deaths are one death now. What did I
expect. And who. What lord of the lord

brain that longs to be a servant of mind.
Last night I left a dead man in a vault.

And then I woke. And he was nowhere.
The door to the vault untouched by hands.

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Copyright © 2018 Bruce Bond All rights reserved
from Rise and Fall of the Lesser Sun Gods
Elixir Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission