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.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 11:26 AM UTC
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.
