YOU MAY NOT WANT TO READ THIS, BUT
whoever said, nothing is carved in stone,
never visited the graveyard full of flowering
rock newly carved, and old granite—petals
faded and leaning—ready to fall to the ground.
After thirty days we check that the clouds
of mourning read out loud have not stained
the setting stone, that the dead remain dead,
held down by geological history and time, rocks
torn from the ground weighing them, keeping
them from rising up again to claim the messiah
and all the ancestors and descendants.
They scream their names out loud for those
who forgot and whisper soft condolences to
those who remember when blood pumped,
breath laughed, and eyes sparked—
shades of joy for each of us, in our turn.