One step and all that grieves
from their shallow beds are the flowers.

        From my absence will come a legacy:

A bundle of fingers, two weary eyes
and a cracked mask. They too would witness
the ghastly chuff of air, the great shower

of herringbones. In the ruins of a dying city,
they’d brush dust from shoulders, and like myself,
shrink in the cool boil of a ghostly sun;

        all before the bone-cold dance of winter.

Only then will my desperation be clarified, and my actions,
however somber, respected and embraced just the same.

RICHARD C. WILLIAMS lives in the brilliant city of New York. His poetry and short fiction are published in, or forthcoming in Oyster Boy Review, Jones Ave, Adirondack Review, Can We Have Our Ball Back, 3rd Muse, Pedestal Magazine, Recursive Angel, Little Brown Poetry, Three Candles, Red River Review, and many others. He edits the innovative literary journal Pierian Springs.