I was drenched to my sick bones
When conviction opened up the sky.
Old Mother’s suicide
Left Spartan roses with new blooms. |
 |
I cried shallow puddles at her wake
To blend with rivulets of others’ sorrow.
Left me pale and bitter at her graveside,
Frail threads loosed their grip. |
|
Earthworm traffic teased my soul
And blessed nature was forgotten again.
When sunburst glimmer shocked sullen mourners
Into reason and remembrance of things not lost. |
|
Old ghosts dwell in the tightly knit weeds,
Bound there by cycles and tied by fringe.
Manifestations of headstone shadows
Stunt new growth where life was given. |
