I, I am the bone-cart man
Who drags his trade down all streets.
Past the invincible.
Theirs not a glance but contempt or fear.

I, who saw Juliet's sweet temples shine waxy-white in candlelight,
I am the end of ages;
I am the bloodless;
I am bonemeal.

Watch the crows tonight.

Water slicked over cobbles runs to graves,
And I stand, as a gaping God
With shovel-mouth,
A stranger on the hill.

Dressed in black now,
Those fleshy
And immortal.
They who still do not know my purpose.