Some held a mass at her grave-
Petals strewn on the mild lave.
Granite-rose a gray façade,
Interred within where she strode,
...
I am on my knees before them,
Yet, they remain strangely unaware
They are driven by sonar,
The redolent aromas of roses, lilies and honeysuckle
...
The goodness of his heart was set,
An azure, domed cabochon
Not faceted, simple
Enthroning us, in his stolidness
...
There is a litany for the dead;
The pine box, the urn,
The eyes dilated on the anodized plate growing wider
Bubble domed tearless sacs, buckshot in the afterglow;
...
Do you hear me when I call, and know that is all;
All I came to do- Hear tenderly, and know we are one,
Behind the rise and the set of the sun.
We are subsumed in this finite skin,
...
Do the trees dance the Saraband?
That bawdy swaying, undulating Couru?
Do they move in poetic refrains
Ethereal and celestial
...
His fingers read my body like Braille, skimming the epidermis
Along the fine downy trail
We are on a scarlet sea
His hands in my mouth, my teeth in his bones,
...
I.
The dead are everywhere waiting for us to see them
They are in our overpasses and byways
The cervices where sidewalk meets road
...
Into the night they come,
These purveyors decked in Kevlar, mortar, and silent munitions
They hang their hats on our sadly stooped heads
Smiling inanely, as if expecting the eyes to greet theirs
...
Oh, prime mother, are you blind to the dross, godly entail, Bequeathed to your progeny.
The subtle subtext lacing that foaming effervescent sea.
This bequest was yours alone to give.
...