Originally posted 8/7/2012.

Under one of the caskets 
in the spare room I find
a book I’d forgotten buying,
a book titled Art And Fear.

I suspect
being under a casket for a few years
has made it a better book.
It smells like it soaked up
a little something while under there
and I think that makes it far more credible.

This is the part where you ask
about the casket.

This is the part where you ask
why I moved the casket.

This is the part where you realize
I used the plural, “caskets.”

This is the part where you hear an owl
in the distance and cannot tell
if it’s in the poem,
the yard,
or the next room;

this is the part
where you stay awake
long after you should be asleep.