My acquaintanceship
      among the dead must grow,
      it cannot decrease:
      a law of nature, though I know it
      from the outside, only.
 
My demon claps his hands,
you have been saved again,
you must be special (this is the same one
who tells me, and not only in the nighttime,
you will die soon: unless).
 
He is a stupid liar
and knows no secrets in fact,
but is convincing
in his blunt, bullying way.
(I want to be convinced.)
 
      What is this law of nature?
      that now I must know, each year,
      a few more of the dead: a suicide;
      a ruined lung; two accidents;
      old age; hospital sickness; and so, on.
 
Is there anybody listening?
is there love
enough to quiet his rant?
 
      ...There is a second law,
      that the dead's business
      is not with me
 
in this land of
the living, one of many,
where just getting by is hard enough.