I sit among the dead.
Their quiet hour gone eternal.
The bliss inhering silently.
As the other noises.
Slip in and out of music.
Long lost dreams find legs or eyes.
The fragrances of stillness.
Rise and constellate among old bones.

All ’round me arrayed like heaven’s compass.
Dead birds fly.
Dead children brood or play.
Dead mothers lift the world once more to life.
Across the thinnest barrier.
The veil that lives, the wall.
The lock that famous guardian holds supreme.
This quiet hour gone eternal.