Cemetery Nature


 How any grass has grown here,

defying stillness, puzzles.

The birds dive, as if to warn,

unflappable. Their space.

 

Hoopoes, swallows own the air

swing low, go close

a breath away, dive you

back to the primal past, excavate

your fears.

 

Intruder.

 

Green reeds silently whistle-

line the ghostly Eridanos.

 

Yet still.

 

Demeter smiles,

 

seeing red,

red anemones popping up

fraternising with Canna lilies

orange high,

 

chamomile scenting grasses.

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