How can we fool ourselves into believing
it’s real? Oh, it’s easy, so easy. Dance
until you are dizzy, without leaving your chair.
Dance with a suave skeleton while you, lovely,
are made more beautiful gowned in layers
of dark petals from tropical blossoms — red,
violet, sienna, ombre, black. Take the bones
of death’s wings for your own, texture them
with crow’s feathers, preening in your library.
Beyond the window are horses you bred and raised.
These are dreams that are not dreams. Bind the books
and our hands in pixelated leather, with a scent
of dust and sweetness. It is madness and delight.
This is a sober joy. Death’s top hat will not fall,
but your gown sways and swirls around you like clouds,
and you, like clouds, part with sudden lightning.
In memoriam, Riven Homewood