Death School

Everybody graduates. We become
darkness, we are diplomas unfurled
in a language older than Latin, we
march down the aisle of kerchiefs;
we leave footprints that fill with water.

We are about to begin our life's work.
Congratulations! We will sow handfuls
of names; we will make the snow human;
we will fool around with night, and
cause stars to disappear, to shine, to fall.

Copyright © 2007 David Swanger All rights reserved
from Wayne's College of Beauty
BkMk Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission