When I die,
The people who care
Will dig up my mahogany coffin
in the night,
Pry up the hinges of the wood
and my skull

To find all the chewed-up ideas
And half-explored thoughts
That linger within.

They will find that my life
was an Iceberg
with so much undiscovered.

They will find all the words
I wanted to share.

They will find all the things
I promised to do.

They will find one hundred puzzles
And the one missing piece.

They will see the pictures
I took in my heart
And see their true beauty
I failed to define.

They will dig up the archives
of poems unearthed

And realize that
That which was me
Was hardly at all.

It was the skimmed surface
of a hidden tomb.