Camposanto

Half-evil we sleepwalk mired in the slime from which we were borne,
our noses twitching in animal anticipation,
dreaming of the day when we may take control.

Around us the creeks babble, the bees hum, the hummingbirds sing their repetitive chirping song, the wolves snuffle sullenly.
Spring is full in the rain-scented air, but we dream of winter.
We dream of crisp air like filo dough, of grey and brown
triumph and bloody footprints.

We live in the holy fields ripe with the blood of our ancestors
but when we sleep, we dream of their destruction under our feet,
and we sleep at all hours.