Lay these words into the dead man's grave

    next to the almonds and black cherries——

    tiny skulls¹ and flowering blood-drops， eyes，

    and Thou， O bitterness that pillows his head.

    Lay these words on the dead man's eyelids²

    like eyebrights， like medieval trumpet³ flowers

    that will flourish， this time， in the shade.

    Let the beheaded tulips glisten⁴ with rain.

    Lay these words on his drowned eyelids

    like coins or stars， ancillary⁵ eyes.

    Canopy⁶ the swollen⁷ sky with sunspots

    while thunder addresses the ground.

    Syllable⁸ by syllable， clawed and handled，

    the words have united in grief.

    It is the ghostly hour of lamentation⁹，

    the void's turn， mournful and absolute.

    Lay these words on the dead man's lips

    like burning tongs¹⁰， a tongue of flame.

    A scouring¹¹ eagle wheels and shrieks¹².

    Let God pray to us for this man.