by ianschimmelfennig
HOME
Stray shapes form letters in grain.
Tombstones touch earth in rain.
In this and in any other weather,
families come to visit and lay
footprints on the path to death.
Each one dies or strays or divides
into such fragrant farmland.
The breaking soil is the sound of love.
The crisp, breathtaking autumn drums
and the crack of death in the new dawn,
invigorating winter soon to come—
The clouds! Do you see the clouds?
as the unmistakable rainbow flows
across the kite horizon.
The dark and wishful ocean of ghosts.
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