FOLLOWING

In November’s uncertain light

Ishmael joins the procession.
What matter whose corpse he follows?

Even odds he’ll absent-mindedly
Mosey along past the cemetery
Until he’s companied the soul
Beyond the border. Its long home waits;

He, though, must find employment
Though his skills all have rust on them.

By the gates the other storytellers

Crowd closer, making space for him.