In the red light of the basement dark room,
I have seen Death dancing. A dim specter
In the dark. A shadow skeleton that
Might not be there. Arms outstretched motioning
Me forward. He has shown me photographs
Floating in the chemical vats. Floating
An accident of exposure. Floating
An artifact of suffering. Of black
Limbs solidified in among the white
Trees of an early snow and short sleeves. Drifts
Piled upon the autumn leaves. Weakened.
Unprepared. My son and I chasing that last
Bit of beautiful weather with a small
Burned out fire and Death dancing us on.