La Macabre

There is a melody

in my father’s ashes

high above the pines

a yellow bird sings

surely with his voice.

There is a beating

in my brother’s corpse

wood pecking in rhythmic time

drilling hollow maples

for he is one of them.

My uncle’s waves

are spidering the sands

ebbing their way

waxing and waning

back to his mother’s womb

and he is one of them.

I watch my hands

gathering scales

for a joyous day

when we shall join

in Nature’s nest

wind god bless them all.

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