i once walked
through graves,
tracing names
on tombstones
faded from sight.
i imagined
bones in boxes,
separated from
their souls, left
to wait for some
kind of return –
to ash? to dust?
or is there only
the shedding
of skin so spirits
can finally soar
somewhere
among the stars?
Tag: cemetery
the cemetery bench
wind weaves through the graves
whispering names long worn
from the headstones. we visit
on anniversaries, speak in low tones,
but mostly sit, as if before a mirror,
wondering what face will appear.
how many years will these ghosts
stay with us, whispering secrets
we will only understand when light
fades giving way to brighter sight?
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