The Invention of Death

Gregory Djanikian

Nothing was so mysterious

as your body coming to a close,

the winches（绞盘） of your arms and legs

slackening（使缓慢）, your mouth loosened.

You were lying under a white coverlet（被单，床罩）

as if under a field of snow.

Something was beginning to drift

like the sound of a train in the distance

under the color of sky.

It was difficult to think

that train is for you, not me

but it was almost easy too.

The birds outside the window

were breaking the glassiness of the morning,

the merciful were disguised

as women in white gowns.

You opened your eyes and asked

what I would remember of you

and I couldn't help but think this

you in a field of snow

and the train waiting by a platform

and the invention of death

twittering outside with feathers.

If language hadn't failed me then

and I remembered speaking.

If silence hadn't entered and sat down

like a fat dark uncle on your bed

and begun stroking your hand.