LEAVES

The women hold a child up for a shield,

And speak of it tenderly,

Seeing it bloody.

The lovers throw back the scented coverlet

And are afraid.

Seeing Death in their own nakedness,

They shroud it with flowers.

The corpse was stiff like an arrow.

As they carried it past the onlookers

It pierced the crowd with its life.

Blank white faces floated back

In terror of its vividness.

The man was dead.

It was seen to that he was buried.

Again and again they dug the bones up,

But when they could no longer find the bones

They groped for the proof of death

In fear of the resurrection.