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  • John Bubniak

a friend



Death,

to your delight,

I deny you

it is, indeed,

not I

now, hardly taboo

I see thou teasing me

thy choice,

taunting

in slim ice beneath my coarse heels

in plethora of the needle, thy shadows

raking fellows like sugar maple leaves soul after soul

yet, familiar, I am not afraid

thou roam so near, but our fingers never clasp I do not stop for

you,

I am not afraid

we will, one moon, dance

with thou blessing, none less till then,

I smile to thee brother

as I,


am merely aching for the living.


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Photo by John Bubniak

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