In the shed I mix creosote & cumin.
Spread its thick paste across my forehead.
Light three sticks of jasmine incense
& inhale cords of smoke
as the tympanum rattles my skull.
I carve this coffin from oak.
Each night outside of time I stack
the letters on thin strips of glass.
I lie inside its contours—icon—still
waiting for the wind.
Listen to the harpoon’s rattle begin.
If a man made up his mind to live,
mere sickness could not kill him.
Make a life-buoy of the coffin, and no more.