memorial poem

over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
there is a city, builded by no hand
to be able to see every side of every question
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
just as my fingers on these keys
afraid no more, i say
soft as the bed in the earth
in all things not spoken of
all those treasures that lie
thou unrelenting past
be not false
death's nobility again