Poetry

Tension grips: 
when you try to open 
the jarred doors- 
 
of the death. 
It was on old friend, 
on the cusp- 
 
selling the dirt. 
Was it the ending of 
the beginning? 
 
Who will go 
beyond the dead 
to find the immortal? 
 
You have left 
many cantos unfinished. 
I will try, will try 
 
to join the dots, 
the dashes, 
the parentheses.