Beside the Graves

beside the graves we speak of new-born children loudly, laughing where the dead are deaf the living clutching them in realms too gross to hear them heavy-hearted in warm spring flowering gay brilliance

black limousines wind slowly with their grave mourners past the dark pines piled with fresh flowers flowers for life for transience for beauty to tell of the dead's latency

as living we walk pushing a pram asking what to cook for dinner to sustain enjoy

i forgetting i once rushed into a grave for one red flower to hold what can't be held like plastic flowers

but the wish grew grew sprouted into secret rooms where she still loved, breathless