Buried Life

Imagine cities you’ve Inhabited, streets Paved in lava stone. You never intended to pray In the temples, had Nothing to sell. Now imagine yourself Returning to those same cities. Hunt for people you knew, Knock on their doors. Ask yourself Where are the vases, animals Etched in gold? Where are the wines From distant places, Banquets ferreted From the bowels of the earth? While you were missing Other people wore Your garments, Slept in your bed. How frightening The man who said In his affliction Wood has hope. Cut down It will flourish. If the root grows old And the trunk withers In dust, at the scent of water It will germinate.