On the Death of a Common Saint

For Mrs. Mary Dale Fontenot

Tomorrow I will wake
while you're still sleeping,
if “sleep” is the right word--
a way to warm the chill death.

I'll be “here,”
and you'll be gone, You...
A slow sadness invades my soul,
because of your kind heart missing.

Tomorrow I will wake
while you're still sleeping,
if “wake” is the right word--
a way to brighten dark grief

like the make-up the mortician
will put on your cheeks,
and everyone will talk
about how good you look,
how they keep thinking you'll just start speaking.

Tomorrow I will wake
while you're still sleeping,
if “sleep” describes true Sight and Sound
first breaking upon the soul like eternal dawn:

You see All that is clear and bright and true.
And more than tears will darken these eyes
that see dimly as through a foggy glass—and dark—
mere shades and hints, shapes and shadows.

Tomorrow I will wake
while you're still sleeping,
if “wake” can express "in death, still dying,"
gasping for breath beneath the foaming waves,

But you in Life, living, now
alive, at last, to Him Who Is.
I still slumber in half-light
and but dream in phantom dimness.

Tomorrow I will sleep
while you're still waking,
If “waking” can contain ever-newness,
Free and Alive beyond our pale imagination.