Against This Death

By Irving Layton

I have seen respectable

death

served up like bread and wine

in stores and offices,

in club and hostel,

and from the streetcorner

church

that faces

two-ways;

I have seen death

served up

like ice.

Against this death,

slow, certain:

the body,

this burly sun,

the exhalations

of your breath,

your cheeks

rose and lovely,

and the secret

life

of the imagination

scheming freedom

from labour

and stone.