I've been dead for over a millennium,
Exposed, on this cliff, to wind and rain:
Not even a ghost has a thinner frame,
And no abortion is more misshapen. . .

Only my spirit lives, absorbed
By a single, inexorable thought:
“Dead and buried in life!” That
Is my torment. . . the rest I ignore.

I know I lived. . . but it was all of a day,
Just one – and the next day Idolatry
Built me an altar. . . Ah! they all bowed

As if I were someone! as if Life
Could be someone! – and then they decided
I was a God. . . and wrapped me in a shroud!