A keening sound
a graveyard born on hallowed ground.
A plaster cast
a broken dream in which I hear the children scream.
I kiss the good book
cross my heart
a keening sound
back at the start,
Circles,cycles,******'s who knows minds of men
who can tell me where and when
the Decameron begins and ends
one hundred tales
one hundred wails melt into me as
I melt into hallowed ground and
I emit
a keening sound.