november vespers

it  must have been
your absence i love best
gone into your own obsessions
  so much quiet
time , as if words
intruded on the catacombs built
between us.

you never walked through the fire with her
  you never had it rough,
forced  to recognise
in shared sacrifice.
words made you believers but
coals made you run
deep into yourself where memory raised flames
hot enough to destroy
your home before  you were
born your daddy
dead your mommy
gives  you up
for good.

fire on the mountain.

foretelling of the ways in which you love?
a wave, formed, resonating, rolling?
no,no, not you, you
control the wave.

"when i die, will you write about me?"

yes.
this writer only deals in corpses.