A Cellist Writes Poems

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for Daniel

     Bare page like a slashed cheek
     or the first time a mouth ran down your body and the mouth
     belonged to someone of your own gender

     and it occurred to you then
     as quick as an orgasm
     that few things worth having
     do not burn—
     you thought of your skull and pelvis,
     how the cremator must bash them with a baseball bat
     after the rest of you is ashes

     and outside the window the most glorious streetlight
     shone just enough to make shadows of falling snow
     and you watched the shadows against the streetlight
     as his hot breath wormed ever downward.
     Your eyes focused outside;
     you accepted passive pleasure, pretending
     the wealth of energy was beyond your transcendental silence.