Breeze

Breeze


Our streetlight
cries
her eyes out
all night long.

A sudden breeze
lifts the heads
of the dead.

The recently dead,
beloved Aunts, Uncles,
Grandmothers
who’ve been missing for years.

Their cool bodies,
infinite-celled now,
soothe my neck
& arms
in the first hours
of morning.

Our streetlight
cries just like a baby
abandoned
on this earth.


Alan Britt

Posted over on Angel Fire