If he were living—dare I ask?
And how if he were dead?
And so around the words I went
Of meeting them afraid.
I hinted changes, lapse of time,
The surfaces of years
I touched with caution, lest they slit
And show me to my fears.
Reverted to adjoining lives
Adroitly turning out
Wherever I suspected graves—
‘Twas prudenter, I thought.
And He—I rushed with sudden force
In face of the suspense—
“Was buried”—”Buried!”
“He!”
My life just holds the trench.
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