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