At My Own Funeral
Bells. Cold air. Damp earth.
Carrying my own coffin as if
divided and watching myself from outside.
Throw masks into an empty grave.
I have been caught leaving a shop
with a bag of stolen apples.
Surrounded by dropped faces and lost tones.
The air cold. Earth damp. Bells.
Leslie Philibert's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (At My Own Funeral by Leslie Philibert )
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