.
Alive as a stone is cold, frozen,
Unmoved as drying statuary -
No blood was running in my veins,
No song was sung behind my brain.

Was I black as rock in wintry shroud?
Was I a phantasm that caught your eye?
My ends were sewn, threaded with hands,
That room, with you, was clothed in dream.

And I slept in a loft that chastened all airs,
I lived in a box which you buried out there,
Out in the hollows of the winds and rains,
I fear I was dead, before we became.