Lenten Song

That the dead are real to us Cannot be denied, That the living are more real When they are dead Terrifies, that the dead can rise As the living do is possible Is possible to surmise, But all the stars cannot come near All we meet in an eye. Flee from me, fear, as soot Flies in a breeze, do not burn Or settle in my sight, I’ve tasted you long enough, Let me savor Something otherwise. Who wakes beside me now Suits my soul, so I turn to words Only to say he changes Into his robe, rustles a page, He raises the lid of the piano To release what’s born in its cage. If   words come back To say they compromise Or swear again they have died, There’s no news in that, I reply, But a music without notes These notes comprise, still As spring beneath us lies, Already something otherwise.