Who said cemeteries are for the dead? For those who celebrate such silence A commotion’s something too. Crow about the stones, smeared by sun All gawking formal and sharply dressed, rung A black congregation that drilled and sermoned My ears down to coffin nails beneath My feet, a voice that hung the wanting Waves.
And over head I saw the braised yearling Eagle bobbing past the undivided sun, Who tottled about the sky in circles out Of center, a wearing down of gear Churning with the grave Bruising birds, that spoke And wheeled over dusty Stones.
Sea spray, leaning trees, slant Of cloud, spilt green grass of one Sided mosses all pointing which was to be — The way,
And leaving there, I saw the sign and it read: ‘Ocean View Cemetery,’ Opens at sunrise — Closes at sunset.