o’er the moonless night
we did lose another brother
to the fever. 

t’was only two weeks ago
our order was forty-seven
strong. 

young men, all–
serving God in this
isolated paradise;

ours days spent in silence
and prayer and in
simple work,
on the grounds and 
in the garden. 

first came the fever
to brother James–
he who saw to our chickens.
quickly did it spread.

to all my ill brothers did i tend,
bringing cool water to lips
that spoke evil things
in delirium.

even the abbot did
the devil take–
a demon spitting fire
from his contorted mouth
before his spirit came
to rest.

always quiet, the monastery hath been.
now, too, is she lonely.
 
i am the last alive, and
my forehead burns.