The bars of the cemetery gates were
Majestic, thin, archaic and crooked
Like the half outstretched fingers of
Death himself. Though they pointed upwards
Towards the glassy orb in the sky,
I went in. Like rotten teeth, the gravestones
Protruded from their place at unequal
Distances each to each; some were long,
Some short, askew or straight, and all chipped at
The edges showing age. Only the worship-less
Moon gave them a white that was not there.
And though the whole decrepit mouth stank
As the vapours of the earth enwrapped the
Chalky slabs, I, like one whose intuitive
Manners precedes action, didn’t flinch.
I was in the graveyard of all the gods
And my plan was clear. With spade in hand
I pierced some soil to resurrect those
Oft forgotten bones that lay resting
Under some weighty years of progressive
Dirt, grave layers set in loose lumps of
Man’s knowledge tramped down at a time.
But some days they are surely worthy of
Resurrection. The first I dug was new.
He still held flesh to bone that laboured time
Had not undone and a white beard still shone
Like wispy clouds or ripped cotton clinging
To fossiled flesh (the archetypal beard,
I thought!). I propped him upon a slab and,
With makeshift lines, drew upon the dirt some
Crude square forms for chess. The rocks and
Stones we placed as kings and queens, castles and
Horses. “The pawns are essential,” I said
With a nervous laugh but the sockets where
Once was housed omniscient eyes were now just
The collapsed space of infinite black; holes
Where, If looked intently, shown an image of
Myself in a pall of deathly moonlight white.
We played our game and sometimes stopped to laugh
At the wily ways of men (and women)
And all the myriad ways that chance can
Hope upon a move. And when I came to
Realize I made his moves and mine did
I feel the heavy haze of the moon’s stare
In a heatless glare that seared shame.
The second was of a different kind. The
Hips were in a convex curve shone wide
That spoke to the feminine feature in
Her skeletal remains; crescent hips like
The moons childhood before the steady
Motion of times waves made it full. But they
Arched like the bended bow that launches all
The arrows that can be blamed on love. I took
Her in embrace and wrapped an arm around
A wide waist as we danced among the stars.
Her ecru arm I crossed over my own
Boned shoulder where, from a lifeless wrist,
Waved a jostling hand full of mock life that did
Sway to and fro with each merry step like
The puppet sans the strings. Under the night
Sky I swept her round and round through swirls
Of dirt as we sometimes threw a head above
To glimpse the swirls of the moons aspect in
Unearthly spirals like ghosts on the wing.
We danced and danced until her celestial
Bones collapsed upon my own, a crumple
Of life not really there. The love I held
I realized then was contained in my own
Bones that emanated spirit and the movement
Of us both. Then did I see I was the
One who caused that hand to swing and sway with
The dance while the heavy haze of the moon’s
Stare in a heatless glare seared shame. The third
And last I rose from the ground. I propped his
Starved skull skyward so we might in concert
Contemplate the stars. We peered at the spray
Of sprinkled lights that blinked in reverence
Around the mother moon that shined like a
Progenitor never out of sight. I
Grasped a pensive moment to explain how some
Lights in the sky had nearly died when he
Was but an infant when he had an infant’s mind
And an infant’s eye to tell what he might see.
I said, as if a student who dared show
What he knew, such light has leapt across the
Bounds of time to spy upon us now, you
And I, as if to come back from the dead
And see us wonder why. He only stared.
The slithering snake, like sins surprise, came
Round the cavernous reach of his eye, peered
A hastate head, and hissed. I left those bones
To be found. Let another decide if
They are fit to hide again. Toward the
Gate I made my way and in a flourished
Flight. If old bones have their use then I will
Shave mine own down to a point to write
A name. The bars of the cemetery
Gates pointed up to infinite abyss.
There the hallowed moon patiently sits
Where she does not blink nor does she see.
