suicide poem

i expect you
the mountains they are silent folk
you are clear
weak-winged is song
rising moon has hid the stars
these hearts were woven of human joys and cares
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
for these white arms about my neck
the air is full of dawn and spring
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
from our hidden places
when the veil from the eyes is lifted