The Sad Sign

It is you now who is dead and your stuff has legs, your
favorite coffee table lamp has hands but they are empty;
they grope for the fingers of a human to turn them on.
Your favorite suede jacket has almond eyes filled with grief-
tears because of your absence, and the photos of your family
have wings, they are birds slamming into the walls
of your departed home, they splatter to the floor, done for.
Your laptop is a mouth chomping at the air, its meals
of your information finished forever, it is famished.
Do you think your soul will be salvaged when your time comes?
Don't disparage things. They are the children of your body.
They cost you everything.
Don't even think your time will never come.