你会来我的坟墓吗？告诉我你的问题？我的问题吗？是的。你会给我答案吗？我会给你我能做什么。我不是总是吗？我在山上想象他的坟墓，俯瞰池塘，一些小九英尺的地球，他们将他放置在那里，用污垢遮住他，在上面放一块石头。也许几周后？也许几天后？我看到自己一个人坐在那里，膝盖上的胳膊凝视着太空。我说，这不会听到你说话。啊，说话。 。 。他闭上眼睛，微笑。我死后，你说话。我会听的。
(You'll come to my grave? To tell me your problems?My problems?Yes.'And you'll give me answers?I'll give you what I can. Don't I always?I picture his grave, on the hill, overlooking the pond, some little nine foot piece of earth where they will place him, cover him with dirt, put a stone on top. Maybe in a few weeks? Maybe in a few days? I see myself sitting there alone, arms across my knees, staring into space.It won't be the same, I say, not being able to hear you talk.Ah, talk . . . He closes his eyes and smiles.Tell you what. After I'm dead, you talk. And I'll listen.)