Georgia Avenue
When the bride whom I once faltered in
complains that I am dead,
object that I'm quite vigorously
dreaming in your shed.
All the quiet that I bartered for
still breeds inside my head,
her garden soft and wonderful
beyond my narrow bed.
My own creature I contended, she
shall nurse a lesser dread;
her moon shall burn upon the dirt
where worms and flies have fled.
And when she offers light to you
about the life I led,
then tell her she may visit me
forever in your shed.
The woman who shall comfort me
will dance where devils tread;
and she shall bring her beauty,
and shall bring me wine and bread.
I curse that wretched avatar
of time which must be bled,
he shall not bleed the one to whom
my love has lastly wed.
She wonders why I left behind
my shadow made of lead;
reveal the god who came of me
in darkness, in your shed.
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