To be among the gentle
Foolhardy, yes, indeed
Whether I want to
Or not, to go dizzy with grief
Indeed I do
Across the Bridge, under the Gate
My father, my brother, both their ashes
To be gone, drowned in the sea
What gowns the heart, what gowns the soul
A black gown on the door knob, draped, turned
Splash water, splash sun, wind whip sail
Crash wave, spit salt, clover on your tongue
Burial is the want, burial to be gone
Know ritual into song
To go down with the dead
To go down into the sea with the dead
To marry the ghost, father ghost, brother ghost
To go down, down among the dead
To wash and to cleanse
To turn ashes into will
To swim gracefully
To be reborn
To be shaken
To be gowned in light
This burning baptism
Blood on the tongue
Do not go gentle
Do not go gentle
Wind sail wind.
Stephen Vincent
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