on the far side
of a field protected
in the space between the hedges
and the hardwoods of mourning
anna lies forever
watching the ocean.

a place salted by tears for her,
and laid out through seasons
begging not for change, anna rests,
as autumn sleeping,
always dreaming, beholding.

and above in endless passing
long angled lines,
flying to warmer climes
by the ten thousands,
great birds on the wing flee
the frozen winds coming,

and the seasons turn for them,
and one hundred thousand more fly,
and the country become as silent
as her trembling kiss
transparent in the blue moon lighted earth,
beneath a gleaming white crucifix,

where i will plan my days
to spend with her,
the flesh that is her words.
the words that were her blood.
again and often,

sometimes to burn them as fuel
to warm myself,
and others to rest beside them
as she rest now.