Itâ€™s a dark mimesis, Death. Seeing, he prods
with what seems a foot, asks for the Baptist, makes
him John the less too soon, this mime of God,
trumped spade. He imitates sleep, but never wakes.
Look! An absence, he brings the Man, a band
of funny Galileansâ€”and more of the lost
in Capernaum, little ditzes, building on sand.
Who else but God would choose such layered dross?
As our sin, like Naphtaleâ€™s, starts to fall by degrees,
we Jungian shadows of death unclench our wills
so slowly youâ€™d think that Jesus charged a fee!
Whatâ€™s death when it dies on every southern sill?
Our Death is a shade whose song is not his own.
He takes the sunâ€™s, leaves it, singing to bone.
David Craig has published nine collections of poetry and three works of fiction. He is also working on a play and a work in fantasy. His poetry has been widely published (200+) and anthologized. He holds M.F.A. and Ph. D. degrees from Bowling Green State University and teaches Creative Writing as a Professor at the Franciscan University of Steubenville. He lives in Weirton, WV with his wife Linda and their three children, David Thomas, Jude Francis, and Bridget Jean.