The eyes see the perversions,
and the ears hear the sobs.
The nose smells the putrification
and the skin...

You are always dancing and humming
queer tunes my love.
Why do you not walk with us
and banish the suffering?
Why do you remain near but absent
whenever our bodies cling to this living?

In sleep, I dream a poem about death.
Waking, I forget the dream,
so perhaps there never was a dream
and perhaps there never was a poem,
and perhaps there never is a death.