(A poem about Owen in "A Day in the Death")

Underneath cold skin
Beneath layers of dead muscle
And chilly fat
I am surprised to find
I'm not entirely numb

I carry on
Broken hands
Brittle on my chest
Feeling for a hint of what I was

Mind you?
What I was
Was nothing good
A rabble of urges
That I never said no to

This isn't a fresh start
It's rigor mortis
I wait out fragile hours
Ticked off by a stopped clock

I'm going to pieces
The world's shut me out
What can I do
Now my body's done?

But an alien light
Takes me out of myself
I come a little alive again
Just a little
To the sound of a muted drum
Like a working heart

A rhythm returns
And my grave hollows fill
Like rain expanding moss
I am sodden with hope.