Last Cockcrow
i remember darkness
as it filled your eyes
with the umbrage of death
i never saw it scrolled
on the lace stitches of night
yet it was written there
perhaps it was all along
when one learns where to look
i should have known
it would be the last cockcrow
before winter's storm
the way you laid there torpid
like summer's sun beyond the horizon
when tossed about in the winds
of winter's frozen breath
maybe i would have seen it
if i weren't looking
through fogged-rims of dawn
that hand's of night had sewn
upon life's window
my tears fell like heaven's crystals
across newborn fields of white
as i heard the trumpet's blow
while death and i both pressed firmly
against your algid lips
but only silence kissed back
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