curled yellow leaves
that whisper down
the silver entity of smoke
clouds reaching arms of
trees
a blue afternoon
and from forgotten graves
a mist of memories arose
the flowing night stands still
loose air grows tense and small
for bodies eager to be doomed
flesh to shaken to rejoice
a watchman afraid to look
our spirits take off
and resume
long stairs of light
falling on silent flowers
sleeping in silence
beneath a nameless stone
on a hill, among the trees
in the center of a field
the stars of all eternal
past shine through
of broken stems
the color of funeral shrouds
lay the graveyard
dry weeds chock the
head stones
