swift as a sharp blade slicing,
a slow dagger to the heart,
a blunt axe swung wildly;
a miser and a patron
but never a fool.
Death, you wait
on me as I wait on you, enticing,
teasing me by your nearness. Mildly
you brush against me in a crowd.
You are a lottery and a certainty.
You demand an audience.
The glamour of one absent, cool
Death, where are you?
Rapt, in sweet purgatory,
my soul nears her Lord.