Raking over church yard cinders
That night in the church yard, I raked cinders
This way and that; like a Chinese gardener.
Rinses the suns gold. "Black renders lacquered "
Into green coals, honeycombs, hot pitchers.
There I see the broth in her eyes poking fun.
As I raked the cinders this way and that,
I am reminded of every hot-spat.
That char-coaled my fires to the bone, and made shun…
Like a shadow from the sun, like a bee from the rain.
And why with the job-done. Did I let mosquitoes bite?
Blister and bloody my smoke- kippered skin, again
And again, I question, what's to reignite!
As the moon bequeaths its skeletal light!
Through the eye sockets of distant; lank-white-stars,
I'd perch a blackbird with my feathers alight…
Hoping to find her old warmth's in the winds guitars.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
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