I wish I could take you,
not at all do I wish to leave you behind,
to not take you
oh friend of mine, oh clunky jewel-box with fifty-nine small keys
who know my fingertips so well.

You know me more than anyone.
More than a statuesque father or crystalline mother;
more than old friends with whom I laughed so genuine.

If I could take someone into the afterlife
it would be you
wrapped close to me in the burial shroud
as we wait the ages under our heavy pyramids.

The sound of your voice will echo through
great halls and grace past so many faces
frozen in death without expression.

If I cross the river I shall have you at my side.
My writings shall lie about me on the sandy floor,
marauders who seek my treasure shall see
I was not buried just:
I was sleeping, just sleeping;
I woke up.