That night I danced,
He was only a little while in the crypt.
People, if they saw,
Would have said ice runs in my veins,
But all that day I was seeing his face,
The sleeping face that made,
Pain form a black hole where my heart used to be.
So to swirl and whirl through dancers seemed little sin,
Giving in to music and drowning in oblivion.
If the dead, have power to understand,
They would.
Wilton Agnew Barrett
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