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