the grave.

the rain patters

upon fallen ground 

my feet touch the dirt 

moist with angel's tears.

i hear the hunting rifle 

sending off like a hymn

serenade me to death.

i wonder how the buds always know 

to burst through on your birthday 

and how the sun knows when to not shine.

how the mist covers the horizon 

sweeping sighs 

throughout the dead grass.

how every march 8th 

rains since you’ve died

and september haunts everything i love 

and how your life could 

haunt moments and memories of my life

that i didn’t believe in. 

i hear the birds chirp 

and wonder if you speak to them now

when drops of heaven 

fall from the atmosphere 

and the wind sweeps me away 

if i will be swallowed whole

a part of me wishes so-

i could finally see you 

in the eye of the hurricane 

just for a fleeting moment 

just an impression left 

on a thumbtack.