Buried
A poem for mourning in May
Buried In rain we bury him— tears plagiarized by weather air shivers its tone in skin numbing fingers grip umbrellas poked by grief throats pinch bone dry… Day stretches and stretches taut its ash-stained sheet— a roof to repel hail’s pummel and weeping hours crowd with lists, tasks to drum silent rhythm and push the past Alone patters robbing room for breath Pain’s sound drowns in downpour
