Ode to the dead (maybe not yet).
A beautiful meal is a life sentence:
Everyone’s in place. One’s in place.
Food also knows where it belongs.

The stage brightens.
Is it dark matter was inhibiting our endowment?

Knowing the ropes to scale now
clearing the dinner club of lame comforts,

Stern, all the food pecked over, even down
to our own place, last place, last row.