Random Acts of Poetry: Cemetery

I had a non-celebratory holiday weekend. Someone I was fond of in the extended family died, and, unrelated to that, I visited an historic cemetery here in the JC to take some pics. Call me morbid....

Cemetery

A baby cries
beneath each rock,

in this strange film
dedicated to the wet salt

and roses of memory,
with its meandering

soundtrack of soprano ahhs
and harp songs.

My part is to walk
a thousand pathways,

evading the maintenance men,
who pick up hearts with spikes

and coo in the language of birds:
We must

arrange our exits patiently,
as the script winds

to its climax,
long-awaited and carved in stone.