Cemetery Poem by Bill Knott
Cemetery
Who whispers here is forgotten.
Saliva's emptiest fruit
adorns the stones,
words ripening your mouth
to a spoilation
of silence.
Who speaks here
reads a text that downloads
the screen of his fingernail,
through which nothing's visible
as glass is.
For the memorial
we must kneel
to pick each flower
from amongst its modifiers:
but to do that
one needs a hand bared
of all uses, of all trades:
as ours is not.
Oh this is as majestic, stately and dignified as the Cemetery.........so stirring and moving emotionally.......... thanks for sharing
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I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 7:53:32 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I'm a little bit lost in the cemetary, but the last stanza has me lingering as I read it again and again.