in a dead language speak to me
sounds only bones can hear
wrap the day in cosmic layers
tomorrow eyes to see
the boy within, yesteryear glee
save the date for no one in particular
call the ghost of me
in a midnight dreary
dance amidst yesterday's garden
dead beneath love bleary
a barren plain left to still all the more
hush beating wings
the animal died long ago
a voice which clamors busy nothings, not sing
. . .when the mountain disappeared in the man and a king swallowed yesterday
breathe eternity
bespoken horrors freely
as wind rushing through a seal or an artery
hush, go back to sleep
together we shall dine
dearly beloved, no,
only the finest wine
save the date for someday soon
(image: Angel, by Yvonne Wyllie, licensed by CC 2.0)