We’re here to celebrate a life of dust.
We’re born passing away, as we must.
Dying we crawl to our parents’ knees,
Choking clutch our holy rosaries.
Crippled we round the bases at stickball,
Hamstrung pitch pennies against the back wall.
We count our raises on fingers of bone;
The dying crowd cheers, but we’re still alone.
Nothing and no one can stop the sands shift-
Ing down the hourglass and over the cliff;
We’re dead at our prayers, and dead at our song;
Dead in the mirror; dead all the day long.
When across the bed your kiss comes like a knife,
I open my mouth, I surrender my life.