calls me rose of neon darkness, calls him-

self early blue evening, black smoke of

sound. Says we are related you and I,

reminds me we are wandering in the dusk,

our faces a chocolate bar, facing the night

of two moons. And though I’m a lonely little

question mark, he laughs. Life is for the living

with gypsies and sailors. ’Til the old junk man

Death plants your toes in the cool swamp mud,

shake your brown feet, honey. Wander through

this living world—get out the lunchbox of your

dreams. Stay awake all night with loving or be

a woman in the doorway. Death don’t ring no

doorbells or say here is that sleeping place as if

it were some noble thing. Think how thin and

sharp the moon is tonight. Don’t mind dyin’,

veiling what darkness hides. Haunt like mystery,

like a naked bone in gumbo. Nod at the sun.