THE SWEETEST BREAD.

The door, alas, is closed..
the fire burned, has burnt.
my life, alas, exposed.
and then in death, covert.

black curtains draw the scene,
this painting lies mere still.
the event of my dreams ..
is now authentic by my will:

a portion for my friends,
a portion for my foes,
for my family, loose ends.
and for myself .. repose.

*the door, alas, lacks touch.
*the fire burnt, is cold.
remember me as such ..
sweet bread that turned to mold.

*room door.
*ashes.