The dead rest and I rest with them
under the shade of the maple leaves.
Their world is cold, eternal, cramped;
mine: sunny, free,
temporary.
We share a home but they are confined
while I am free to roam and wander,
or lie upon their mossy bed as I read
about yet another world -
Imaginary; existing somewhere in between.
People come and go as the day drags on.
Sunlight glints off the headboards.
They arrive slowly. Leave quickly.
We stay.
The air is fragrant with the scent of freshly turned soil; their blanket, my bedsheet. This is a land of peace
and I am a guest,
temporarily.