Today's poem is by Ron Houchin

Every Day of the Dead

An old church house abandoned long enough
has constantly dark windows. Two
tree limbs stretch across
its walk—like the arms of one who fell
long ago. Back garden vines vein
over a skeletal trellis.

A cemetery of leaning stones
cools before and after rain. Fence corners
overgrown with blue-gray, even on sunny days,
are harder to remember at night.
Shadows of shadows on humps of earth,
portals—we come to touch
the world we may believe in,

as the long-gone may come to a ray
of evening sun against a mausoleum wall,
for the memory
of memory and warmth
of body we think they must believe in.

Copyright © 2013 Ron Houchin All rights reserved
from The Man Who Saws Us in Half
Louisiana State Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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