Often, he stayed in bed
and labored over his book
about the word obey
in Shakespeare, and its roots
in the Latin audire. Often
he thought about the imperfectness
of things and the endless silence
of death. And when the loudest sound
was his dog pawing for water,
the creaking timber of his home,
the song of a wren,
or his own waning breath,
he tried to remember that the dead,
the obedient, listen perfectly.
William G. Gillespie lives and writes in Brooklyn, NY. His poetry has appeared in The Drunken Canal and is forthcoming in Olney Magazine.
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