Catching
her tears in the breeze
From
one row of headstones to the next
Some
days you would see her ghost
Walking
up and down
Like
a private on patrol.
Entwined
with the sun
Just
before sunrise
Creeps
over the hill
Cascading
into a silent film
As the
shadows sank away
Repeating
his name over
Like
a broken tape machine
Caught
up in a tangle
Of half
forgotten prayers
In at
least two different languages
Echoing
in the wind
Butterfly
shaped with regrets
In a
tidal mystery of anger
If things
had been
So very
different
Over
skeletons of feelings
Before
they turned
Into
scraps of meanings
After
the burnt out end of summer
Into
a willow shaped autumn
Following
him
To the
grave
Within
weeks
Filled
with nothing
But regret
