—After A. E. Stallings
The second time he went
Down to the silt and silence of that other place,
He couldn’t recall the world
He’d left above, or the way he’d died, or his dead wife’s face,
Or any element
Of life as known to those still cluttering the surface.
So, nameless and unlaureled,
He met the veteran dead and learned the . . .
. . . . . . .
[ subscribers: login for full text ]