At Père Lachaise
Until today, I’d always planned to burn,
to be consumed by flames, not worms; to leave
no trace, no evidence I walked the earth.
But earlier, at Père Lachaise, you said
you’d like to share a grave; to lie with me
beneath a tree, in some soft-breathing wood.
And hearing that, my atheistic scorn
ignited, flared . . . subsided, sputtered out.
Be there beside me till the end of time