the hardest lesson i ever learned
was never to dig a shallow grave.

i learned as a boy
young and teary eyed
scrapes on both knees
knee deep in mud,
too weak to lift the shovel.

i dropped your body in
left your corpse
in a shallow pit.

at a tender age
it was all i could do.

i didn't prepare for the flood
didn't see it coming
so when the rains hit
your body turned lazarus.

old haunts and dreams better off dead
drug their familiar names in my skin
and i aged decades in heartbeats.

the hardest lesson i learned
was that corpses stay dead
no matter how many prayers you send.

you are a corpse
of a forgotten promise
reeking of obsolescence.

don't you dare forget

that i buried you
once
twice
three times

that you still rose to
haunt me in the quiet hours
of a morning too heavy with dew to begin
of a sun too weary to start again
of a moon too proud to dip
below my horizons

that i walked away
left my scar
of an unrequited kiss
upon the skin of the earth.

the hardest lesson i ever learned
was how deep to dig a grave
for a memory turned corpse.