At the Graveyard

Christmas Day. Your lovely blue heart. Keep bleeding, keep, keep bleeding love…

She told me this once
And never again, once beside her
Father’s dying grave, the rubble
Passing away with every lash of
Wintry wind and every fall of
Yellowed leaf, I had then spied
The rising of a tiny shoot of grass
The head bore droplets of morning
Dew, starved like tigresses
Tired from night-long hunting
The shoot rose a few inches from
Where the epitaph stood,
The marble graying and flying off, 
Shooting steamy sparks 'round the yard
I could barely read what was
Etched on the cold and grainy
Stone, yet the doves taunted me
From where they sat, on
The tireless branch of
The lone tree, like an island
In the middle of a vast expanse
Her words were daggers
Sent my heart beating like
Frenzied clownfish, my face
Flushed like blooming roses
I stood beside the grave
And endured her whipping
Glancing every now and then
At the darkening sky
The clouds in wordless
Slightly agitated procession.