She holds me, and my chest is seized in spastics!

Though I must never shiver, would not dare

to lift the lids from core disordered caskets

and find my friendless phantoms lying there,

their tired moaning rising up to blame her...

but then, a bitten lip, and they forget

the thousand shriveled hopes that dust their chamber;

one drop of thrumming blood will make them wet.

They hoist themselves, dry eyes again aglisten,

straining to hear her speak her wordless spell;

and if the dead and gone can long to listen,

then love will wake the living just as well—

lonely bones revitalized, taut, thrilled;

a broken-promised list at last fulfilled.