Lay me down
in graves of thunder
with storms buried deep
six feet under

Here beneath
the willow trees
in all my shaded
memories

The pieces of
a past not healed
poured broken on
a potter's field

Sun sets low
and tide turns in
Headstone wearing
a joker's grin

Wait with the man
one hour only
so a soul
might not be lonely

If we listen
with ear restored
will we hear
this call once more?

Can we rise up
from our sleep?
Blackbird singing
a song that weeps