Up the Stairs and Down Again

He sat corpse-like by the fireside
with the cinders stretched round upon his eyes.
Inside he saw each day go by, the ashen times
when his mouth hung low for every spoonful.
The night is long; winter delays his suppers by an hour.
 
Rest the blanket on his knees and let him sleep;
his dreams are thin and tepid up the stairs and down.
Put the water on the table at his side and do not mind
the dust meniscus like a cataract in the glass.
Draw the curtains, dim the lights, drown the sounds of life.
When death ascends the stairs let him in before he knocks.
Do not wake him, do not touch his waxen hand.
 
Leave now, your job is done – sleep awaits you,
lay yourself down by the hearth.