Suggestion, Just Before Sunrise, Cemetery Hillside
Loblolly pines peel away from the paling sky
looking back on their roots.
Over one’s shoulder the full moon
eclipsed on the western horizon’s
almost an after-thought. As indirect
light rises from the ground below us men come,
constructing the canopy tent for the next
funeral. Ground fog further east glows
red and headlights are no longer
necessary to see where you’re going.