suicide poetry

short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
i wonder where you live
i have known the silence of the stars and of the sea
i make my shroud, but no one knows
the pale day drowses on the western steep
through the broad earth's aching breast
in halls of sleep you wandered by
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
grieve not for the invisible
sing again the song you sung
when, full of warm and eager love
all down the years
do you remember
at dawn, he said