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The Truth The Dead Know by Anne Sexton (The right amount of imagery WS
Gone , I say and walk from church,
As the stiff body embraces the grave
letting the dead cool at the hearse
it is Jun, battling the sun is being brave
We turn to the Cape, I cultivate
myself a sacred melody from the sky
where the sea bangs like an iron gate
and we touch. In this way people die.
My darling, the wind has often blown
from the raging water and when we touch
we lose the touch entirely. No one's alone.
Men kill for this, or for such
