There are walls in many homes
on which some moss has grown
to keep those imprints leaning
along their lines and watch
the birds fly past their inner years
made of rooms and hills,
their courses quake in tempered dust.
The iris froze inside the day
and took no note of its falling
asleep with serpent curls
or flaming swords, flowing youth
and funerals. Lives are grave and
Graves are green with life,
gloom lazes in the summer grass.
Give up, live on, good man, good girl!
Go on and grieve! Give on and glow!
11:11 pm 8 October 2009