Sonnet #122

We will not speak to strangers about the dead

We will not abandon the bodies of the dead

We will not permit the dead to bury the dead

Flowers bloom, cut short and browning on the dead

tombs and cemetaries, the grass is mown for the dead

That grass may never set seed to die above the dead

An eternity of grass, cemetery lily centuries for the dead

In gardens where the living ones whisper to the dead

And bring gifts to those beyond all gifts: the dead

will never taste your charities, they are the dead

And all gifts brought are for the living, not the dead

Bodies transform into a new way of not being the dead

But unlock the living cells that devour cells opened to the dead;

the resurrection is just so very small, there is no death, no dead