A Poem by Adian Lynes
Dating
(I would)
rather widow uncertainty than wed these
distinguished, dampened lights
like when you suspect the soft lush
sound of snow
is deceiving
and awake in the morning
deep in white graves.
Chinese tombstones are burrowed into
red and green
mountainsides
as if entire armies of people were
tunneling free
alone on hand and knee, dingy,
homespun, cupping
the crumbling moss
when someone thought it would be
prettier
to cap the escape hatch
and sprig up some peonies.
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