The rhythmic chanting of the priest is like a fever
Like the songs at your funeral and the desperate, salty taste as
I gasped for breath there and hated
That I needed it so greedily that had abandoned you

He touches in blessing each of your compatriots, who,
Falling limply, seem to mockingly prostrate themselves before
His might
To accept with scornful, reckless hunger his offer of peace


For a moment our eyes lock though yours aren't even there anymore and I
Reach out as in a dream to touch you and
Watch quietly as your arm falls off
And you almost seem to smile

And you are gone
Again, the sweat-browed clergy looking wildly to me and
Tossing back your fell animation like so much
Exhaled life

But I saw you whisper

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