Thursday, April 14, 2016
this graveyard looks precisely like a beach,
so only i can see the crowd of stones
aged into pebbles, battle-worn and bleached,
so many markers, begging to be thrown.
i left them here; we left them here; these graves.
we knew the sand was gushing through the glass;
we thought that--in the burial--we'd save
this us-and-we in sculptural impasse.
but tide and tide and tide and tide and tide
tickled these tombs until they split their skins
and what we oh-so-tightly tucked inside
unknitted; monachopsial and thin.
the people who once dug these graves have died.
new residents now stretch between their bones
and fill with new desires the stolen hides
that watch the others, every one alone.