Musings at a Cemetery

A boy sitting in the darkness
watching shapes and faces
form in white and
drift away as smoke

This story has a cold skin,
a feeble heart and shivering arms
Regrets becomes a noun
and hides in the spaces
between every line
A boy is sitting in the darkness
using his fingers to find God
in the faces of shifting images
A song dances on his tongue
with words as broken dirges,
mourning the dead weight
on his chest
This was how death came:
He loved a wild fire
that did not burn for him

And now,
a boy sits in the darkness
surrounded by tombstones,
flowers and silhouettes of
ghosts that laugh at his misery,
a thousand crackles that
all together sounds
like a mocking song:

Oh, let me warn you
by the gazelles, yes,
by all the wild deer:
Don’t excite love,
don’t stir it up
until the time is ripe
-and you’re ready

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