when you write to write
but not to listen
can you right the rites
that sit there, glisten

red upon the stones
heart plopped
dangling from a throne
some gruel?

Who could be so cruel
Where has the sun shone
this dread
The man, he moans.

Is there one to christen
One to keep this night?

As of yet, no might.
Shall he --
        is he risen?