I found that old crate full of

dried Black Walnuts you left

acrid and hard

little balls of ancient elephant skin

I took one

to drop among the folds

of your coffin

perhaps tuck it under your sleeve

No prying undertaker

or sanctimonoius son

would ever see it

But I couldn't find you there

you seemed long gone from that polished

joke of a room

So

When the waves of hollow smiles

ranked against my heart

and the the hands that patted my clothing

became the paws of beasts

I found myself fumbling for that Walnut

deep in my pocket