Brought
back from the dead
In
a wooded clearing
At
witches’ midnight
Supine
amongst the dirt and leaves
Sparse
saplings forming a denser circle
Heads
bowed
Voices
in unison
The
men begin to chant
Stripped
bare the branches
Witness
the exhumed
Not
hours after the burial
Carried
to this secluded, sacred place
Slung
over the shoulder
Of
the one like a bear
And
laid down like
The
wedding night that never came
The
chanting grows louder
Her
lips once again do quiver
These
are men
Not
of science
Men
of a coarser cloth
Clergymen
in a choir
Of
a tongue forged in hell-fire
A
knowing side-smile
A
secret handshake
A
candle lit
And
then snuffed out
In
the window of a second-story drawing room
These
men
They
are all around us
And
we are none the wiser
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