To run and leap, to twist and dive?
I looked at her; she looked at me.
To taste a rose, to feel a song,
For tears that wash, a heart that laughs?
She looked at me, but did not see.
What is it like to be a leaf?
So soft with beauty, a life so brief,
The tender flower stabbed by the bee.
To feel the lovers' mossy bower,
Mouth with the worms, sex like a flower.
I looked at her; she looked at me.
What is it like to be a rock?
To be carved with runes, to feel no shocks,
The standing stone cannot hear or see.
To live forever, to feel no pain,
To be a sphinx on time's long plain.
I looked at her; she looked at me.
What is it like to be dead? I said
To the face in the mirror, who looked like my mother,
What is it like to be dead? I saw
A long dead smile that wrinkled then slid,
Blue eyes that melted into liquid,
Flesh that slid from glistening bones
A skull that crumbled to powdery moans.
To unknowable stars her atoms flee,
I looked at her; she looked at me.
What is it like to be so dead?
Do you doze in a darkened room on your bed,
Do you doze on your bed in a darkened room
And wake in fear in the blackening gloom?
Do you sing with bright angels and dwell with God?
Are you born again in pain and blood?
Every day we get nearer, that's what I see.
I looked at her; she looked at me.
September 2006.