Cemetery Sunset
shadows
shave lichen from stones,
languorous over the praised dead.
they seem far too comfortable
on this chaste glazed sward
greened by the silence of winter.
then
somber to startle
oranges and yellows reach up
a,d stretch bold yet lazy paws,
which seem somehow the outskirts of a prowl,
some vast carnelian cat.
slowly, ever so much,
its claws bleed each gravstone's epitaph,
letter by letter, words of rest,
into a cup of slouching amaranth
and so on until
the metamorphosis of night:
bold as Hecate's bed,
ravenous and disdainful,
on a brimming rapture of stars.
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8/17/25 .... millions of edits
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