The Grave Robber’s Monologue
they
are the
best company
and that is why his hand is stuffed in
an ancient pocket where the buttons
have clinked against
the marble floor
long away since
he was a child
and long since
and long since brazen things have fallen away as well.
it quivered about the
last autumn trees to find the
living asleep in comparative
silence towards
the crash among leaf and
field by tiny mice
and
wide awake night birds
but comfort stands at
the woolen-eyed sentinels
by the heavy gates. and the
November out of doors
is more along the lines
of wood smoke
along the ice laden boughs of
elastic birch trees the ash clings
because
all atmosphere was once the carbon
dioxide of inhaling plants
the impurity traced of oxygen and
that the couplets arranged less and less
while
still worthwhile: the familiar cufflinks. a cameo
brooch. an emerald pin.
they sift underneath their opened eyes
and
like marbles fallen they
shatter china against the temple
floors.
it is nice lifting a hand to be among
those who are not
waiting any longer |