all the buried men

Visual Poem all the buried men
Written by nomoth
Author's Note
the buildings remain
sell them up to god.

kneels - to turn the key
to the lock,
rises - to house
the birds to dust

in shadows
of the morning sun
your artist hands
bow and pick:
the safe in beds
and last pence
from my pocket,

I note
all your blue-grey skies
as each sun behind
sheds light to steal
the woodland's break.

I do not know
if these shimmers that kick off
from their leaves
step towards me
or against my life besides.
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