The Walk
I walk outside
A cemetery in the distance.
I approach the dying gate, where the air is thin
Where the blood flows fast, but the heart beats low
The twilight is near, before the sun dies against the maddening moon
I walk past the dying gate
Up the long maple tree hill
In the near darkness I've come to read words
Flashes of narrow light along carved  granite stone
I read the date of birth, the date of death
Like an eternal magician I try to raise a soul, free it from the moon's fate
But I hear a raven's cry,
I imagine it swooping hidden by the darkness
The soul does not rise,
My heart feels low
I walk the distance
Not certain if the cry of darkness will lead me home