We traveled north down the Nile
to Abydos, the boat’s oarsmen
slaves to a rhythm. They said

we were dead. Osiris was waiting.
It was the first we’d heard
about it. We wanted to know

was life retrievable, we wanted
to return. Could this trip
be deleted like email or a text?

We pictured the clouds massing
above the Pacific near Tofino,
how the light looked at the end

of the day on the last day of July
years ago. A cloud’s requirement
of sky. The light’s last act.

We argued that the song of a god
previously unknown to man
was calling us back to the moment

just after there was no time.
There a trapezoid of light
traveled across clean hardwood floors.

TODD COPELAND's poems have appeared in The Journal, High Plains Literary Review, Southern Poetry Review, The Wallace Stevens Journal, and The Texas Observer. He lives in Waco, Texas. 
The Adirondack Review