A sack for catching Death in

Knot by knot, I'm tying up
a sack for catching Death in.
Half-hitch and half-hitch again,
until I close the net in
to trap the rogue inside.
My fingers found the woven rhyme
(Heave away, haul away)
of a sack for catching Death in.

Sometimes the jute burns the skin,
and sometimes it bites in.
I can spare the weave some drops of life,
I can spend out yards of time.
For that's the trick of twisting line
(Haul away you rolling king)
into a sack for catching Death in.

Don't be fooled if it's filled with fruit
and thrown upon my table;
or at the market, around my back,
low and dropping with potatoes;
or slick with slime and to the brink
with gazing, gaping trout.
I've caught Him within.
I won't let Him out.
You can smell the food,
why can't you hear Him shout?
There won't come a day that I'd be without 
(You'll wish that you had never been born)
This old sack for catching Death in