rites of mourning, songs of spring
robed in gray skies and stranded
in the winter of your grief:
your only daughter buried
soon after her bridal feast.
death's pomegranate lady
wandering his barren fief,
bathes in the river Lethe
and drinks wine with the deceased.
because of her, you silence
the song of each olive leaf.
lend me your withered, chapped lips,
petals wilting, blooming ceased,
goddess, teach me to wake her
from the sleep of death, spring's thief
singing her out of the earth
as skies glow rose in the east.
a/n: earth dressed in its mourning weeds of leafless trees and fallow fields. june 4, 2010.