Melodies unweave crisped notes above loosely wrapped, confused flesh
to help soothe and subdue them into their darkly-writhing graves -
even the newly dead require a rite of passage,
a more solemn letting go
than a mere scattering of petals would imply.
They feel the weight of a clouded sky pressing down,
the force of gravity constraining their brittle bones beneath the soil
as they still remember the warmth of sunlight
upon their now paled, gray faces.
Do not speak unkindly or step over them without pause,
for they will know the depths of your presence soon enough -
you will not be able to plead or barter your way out
of these evolutionary circles,
away from this binding, terrible truth.
So I am wandering looking for new deities,
sweeping dirt to and fro, seeking a softer place to kneel
than memory will offer this gasped grinding of grief,
this swift severing of halves from wholes,
this etching of echoes carving caves into heaving, heavy hearts
that know of no better place to release their barbed-wire laughter,
their cautious aspects of mourning, each stuttered step acknowledging
such fiery, distant drums.