The Coffin Pusher

Why does the water clock run slow?

The night that conceals every sin.

Who snuffed out the glass lamp at midnight?

Embroidered shoes stained with red clay.

Whose blood has stained the peonies once more?

On a night of torrential rain,

some flee for their lives, while others spill blood.

And I push open the heavy coffin lid, writing the eighth page of the corpse examination report.