Throbs of words

This is a swelling
These are heaps

                PYRE

   piling rocks for you
   missing all of you
      
              
                                 the mystery of friends
                                             we’ll mis-sing and misremember
we are the minds of this country
               rich robes saying
       walking strong and oblivious, with pomp and
                                   we’ll accuse
                     Like a lantern

 We’ll say
         instead, in a passing

                                                     was a choosing
                                       left embers burn out           Time
                                             Outliver, you

                                    loose dirt and hasty

and poems,
are mine
what Eyes

                                                         PYRE

                            of taking
  soaked into you as a message
         of herbs
         of oils
         of wet ground
         of char
 a scent longer
 what’s left is

to peel back
smokeshrunk
   a casement
one goes to
it’s not an absence

each poem ajar

                  PYRE

    the names to myself
                                         and kept
                      I threw 3 coins
          metals and fire—
  the wind let out, singed
       There would be

                             & hissing pebble
                         & rocks
                    All sticks

           in these old kinds of poem
There would be no words

                             PYRE