Here death is a vulture:
devours face and memory,
claws at carrion, feeds on fullness
like life was flesh,
fit for the taking.

But life is a million
intangible moments, all
dazzling and passing
in Eden-sunk grief

and Life won't go silently,
fighting reduction,
while Death - old materialist -
denies Life ever was.

We have seen it, and held it.
We bear its witness.
We stroke its unresponsive hand
and pray to beg it back.