Emily Dickinson

If He were living—dare I ask—

734
 
If He were living—dare I ask—
And how if He be dead—
And so around the Words I went—
Of meeting them—afraid—
 
I hinted Changes—Lapse of Time—
The Surfaces of Years—
I touched with Caution—lest they crack—
And show me to my fears—
 
Reverted to adjoining Lives—
Adroitly turning out
Wherever I suspected Graves—
’Twas prudenter—I thought—
 
And He—I pushed—with sudden force—
In face of the Suspense—
“Was buried”—“Buried”! “He!”
My Life just holds the Trench—
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