POEM - Lunch in a Cemetery

There is nothing quite so remote as the
Toothsome grin of a cemetery:
A sober composition of marble
And galloping grades of sloping green swaths

Of the hard single point perspective that
Only a headstone can place at your feet.
Sometimes I wander in to eat my lunch
Amid lush reverence, amid the blessed

Solitude, swarmed by distant bereavement.
The air encircles my earlobes like a
Seashell whispering the ocean’s secrets
To me. There is nothing so snug as the

Envelopic tuck a cemetery
Provides - grassy blankets wrapping well thought
Out plans so full of pebbled details, the
Black skies, filled with each starry promise

Ever made throughout a vibrant life.
Each person, limp like a shawl tossed over
Slumping rounded shoulders, fully resigned.
Leaving what remains of many names, free

To roam, just as I do, and just as fearful -
Just as concerned for purpose and meaning,
Even while wandering in this hallowed
And hollow state, even as pure spirit!

What is left, here beneath the green blankets
Dressed up and fussed over with greatest love,
Here at my feet is just an early spring;
A bonfire of burning debris and grass,

Raked into little piles like headstones
Turned into ash, caught by air, it floats off.

M C Biegner
3/27/2006