Sport 33: Spring 2005
In the cemetery
In the cemetery
The dead are not here,
sunbathing in their granite suits.
Or have become these birds:
the serin serenades itself,
the redstart stars
in its own black night of feathers,
stops on top of a sepulchre
to let its hymn cross
into gossip—this
crisp ripping of
these, our
deeds.