Rest

words like ghosts of cries
lay flickering above the balancing decay
of my mind
coffined and silent

I am older now
wiser than before
maturity of past choices
has me free now to be curious
wondering, graceful

I speak creativity language
to communicate with children
the dead
the songs

unsung and praised lie helpless
until I recall for them
lakes of their befores
evenings and meadows

I sit patiently at my grave
I will rest here
under this tree
under these flowers
delicate bones
thin writs
offering passionate brightness
to earth and years developing