Whispers from a Bucket of Formaldehyde
			(Einstein's Brain)

They have waited till I am nothing
to spy on me.
I undulate in a shivery gas,
diminishing slice by slice
while they seek to know
the why of him.

What can I tell them?
He is not mine
anymore.  He has left off pushing,
stretching, prodding
and stropping me.
That which I directed
lies in peaceful decay
while he who knew causes, reasons
and ends

is in yet another place.
But I,
rank and antiseptic, immortal 
for the pleasure of their
curiosity, exist
in an eternity of drowning.


			Lucille Murphy