asking death about loving
the young man who shouted
while selling jarred lights    
put his brimmed hat on in vain;        
death is brighter than all his goods
and the answer to his question
was the sweet voice of a bird  
broken by falling stars        
                          
asking death about loving
the librarian of idle care
who slept on marigolds
wept for his preloved nightmare;
death is sweeter than all his hope
and the answer to his question    
was the embrace of an ancient queen
he longed since his pilgrimage    

asking death about loving
a downpour stood by an open door
mumbling songs we used to sing
to delude its love;
but death is promiscuous
and sweeter than the pain we inflicted
he took each of us by the hand
and kept singing towards the light

I now know that death
carries love in his sleeves
and that our ghosts
would be save in his hands;
let's run on your getaway
while you're falling in serenity
and when the star falls upon our soul
loving is no longer a question