"We lost you there", the nurse whispered.
Took his bite then his breath,
as rain buries sunshine.
Crystal lauded in exalted tones
of mystics describing transports
of bodies flooded with Holy Spirit.
Daybreak hunting mushrooms in wet grass
and the soft musk of soaked leaves...
Fair is fair, like ecstasy and death.
He touched both and knew mysteries.
Poets plying wordsmithies never
sing sweet as birds at sunset.
Close to close,
they cut off his clothes
before they burned
him to powder
fine as Crystal.