Tell me. You have gone to where I cannot
follow, not yet. Tell me, are there grackles?
I love their iridescent black, their squat
bodies, their ill natures. Their song rankles
and cracks but they do not fear me when I
am near. Are there meadows where the streams glide?
where the moon shines on the hill, the firefly
and the ladybug? Did you have a guide
to get you there? Dante did. Yes, I know
I ask so much. Worried, I guess. We said
it would be all different, like a mellow
groove-in; that nothing can worry the dead.
Tell me, are you still waking up nervous?
Are there still wretched nights and loneliness?
