suicide poem

there is a city, builded by no hand
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
when i go back to earth
in the sphere
i stood
renew the vision of delight
of sun nor stars
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
i reside at table mountain
from floor to ceiling
up from the meadows rich with corn
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me