The dead await no resurrection.
They shed their wide Germanic wings;
shrouds cling moist, translucent,
like thin white condoms.
The scent settles in recollection
of beaches, bedclothes, and black dogs.
Forgotten haar pauses for the baton,
surplice and cassock,
ruff around abandoned larynx,
secrets deep between bare teeth.
They stand with crocuses among the stones;
erect and proud, heads fully extended,
ceremoniously silent.
The dead await no resurrection.
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| People & Blogs | Upload TimePublished on 3 Nov 2013 |
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