Ode to the dead (maybe not yet). Then dims. 
A beautiful sentence:  
Everyone’s in place. One’s place.  
Food also knows where it belongs. Rapid in general.  
 
The stage brightens. Thinned out. 
Is it sub-luminous un-inhibiting our endowment?   
 
Knowing the ropes to scale now, even substance,  
clearing the theatre of lame comforts,   
 
Stern, all the food pecked over, even down  
to our place, last place, last row.