Reflex by Dan Vera
They will all return with the bones
that produced them.
But for a little time
a testament remains.
Miklós, they could not silence
you in an earthen grave.
We found you and the tiny book
inside the lining of your coat.
I think of you on days like this
when the light is gray
and my mind is jumbled
with what matters least.
You are standing there exhausted
stealing moments in the dark
to write the most important things
all in the face of approaching death.
Perhaps it is the reflex of our state
to know what comes and still insist
on recording what must be found.