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.