Lies in a state of enervation,
lies like a cadaver that can tell
no lies, like a mummy, like a corpse
reposed in savasana. After
death can be like that. Words chipped away
like fossils, gems held up to the light
of day. Reinterpreted, mis-
understood. Deemed worthless as rotten
wood or precious beyond all human
good. Syllables, reduced to silence,
remain like secrets it could tell, locked
behind sealed lips, clenched jaw, closed eyelids.
Not even sighs will make their escape
sound good. No dropped hints to a word well-
spoken. No vindications to lines
well-turned or well-spent. No wink, no nod,
no taking anything for granted.
Nothing will be engraved in granite.
