47

If the graveyard is your theater
And the horizon’s the concession
How does this sun and fresh air grab you?

Does it feel like sleeping animals,
Coffee, installation art? Do you
Formulate higher spirals to avenge

The lost hours of nannies?
The cemetery’s handwriting neither
Exculpates nor intubates the goth,

But gives safe conduct to a love
That only exists in brief interviews,
Glowing like the ‘recording’ light.