bare of branches

the sun's dappling
masks the pulseless veins
her fingers stroke the fiery corpses
mocking wormservants
and tricking lovers into believers
of beautiful death

the crisp of bones fragment
beneath secret feet and lift
their dusthymns in the truth
of autumn's moon

that will not hide
beneath the patchwork of her dress
this patient haunting
where their skeletons
moan lower
in some places

if you would dig me deep enough
you will find the moss damp
where I will only sleep
until full lipped winds
quicken me to twine
once more around your limbs

to rise
your vernal Lazarus

H