Death is a wide awakening To what I've missed, For something I've kissed, In a world I've wished To be something other than it is. My eyes see the wooden frame, The wooden lid, The wooden bottom, As I am Pinocchio with his nose in the soil, Merely the creation of a tree To speak of what I call truth. I have loved nothing more Than the fragrance, The aroma, Of the Earth about me. She once told me That there is no cure for life. That, to live is more inevitable than death, Should one choose to move. I remain In this pain In the shame Of calling my bed a tree As my partner is a coffin.