I think about it often
The tools I will bring
All of my instruments
When I’ve taken my medicine
The last time my skin will feel the sun again
Boxed in for my burial
The close I spent so much hurrying
Love that I kept narrowing
There’ll be lashes of poetry on my skin
To decompose
The paintwork green and thin
Just like Lar’s did
I think about it if and when
What’s left of my innocence
Pages of paper, only my favourites
My within purgatorial
Instruments for burial
Some family pictures, there’s one in particular
The one with my dad always made me so sad, which is familiar
The teddy I held close when I missed Ellie the most, when I was a prisoner
The laugh lines, from Alex and Ciarán, my dearest builders
My treasured green pen, if only to flick
As I walk the endless walk
Which inspires me to think
I’ll need no compass, friend, not even some ink
Just a single bright moment
One to illuminate the brink
These are the tools I will bring
My instruments
And either way
I’ll need to keep my inner child safe
I didn’t get to before the grave
All of his little yesterdays
Better bring with me my faith
Lessons from millions of mistakes
And many miles of shame
Memories so pictorial
These are my Instruments for Burial
Leo Grey 