Beneath the garden, stardust sown to ground
in state he lies. So stripped of pride these bones
are, so transcribed from fleshly palette to
this empty slate, in latent power crowned
a king though circumscribed and ironbound,
a thrown down throneless sovereign overgrown
by time. What ancient rhyme will liven true
ascent, awaken daybreak to confound
the twilight’s turn to night? Though death pursue
with greedy bands its might must fail. Late
the grave retains its prey and holds its sway
but oh, these bones will reign! A cyclone waits
to blow this eager throne-bound stardust through
new Eden’s gaping gates at break of day.