The Empty Grave

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

There is no such thing as peace.

Our sanctuary changes with the passage of time,
the land fills in and opens up in some other place

bones degrade,
then birds explode from the trees

alive

(throats full of hovering fog and old
silver hymns of sunlight

fields where flowers are placed by hands
but also feverishly unfurl from them)

Absence? what is this

With no place to rest tears or throw down,
I have come
to suffer you here in every vagrant form:
the rotting leaf, the patient earth,
the indifferent stone wall, the empty grave

Should I escape this confining lot too,
become everything it is not or
discover that which it secretly is,

(final but eternal I am almost
here I am almost there)

would I live in the wind
or the wood of the tree?

There are only two earthly places for you and me:
Be loved, or be forgotten.
This is your secret.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Quinto aniversario
by: Candida Pedersen
from: Järfälla Estocolmo, Sweden

To visit all of Crystal Dawn Allen's poems, click HERE

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