Dancing in the Graveyard

Every now and again,

I visit the graveyard.

The weather is cold

and the ground is hard.

I walk past tombstones

and read many epitaphs.

Those buried in caskets

are more than just bones.

This is where they call

home. The commemorating

words carefully carved

onto each slab tell a story

that came to an end. Some

stories are shorter than

others. I follow the same

path that leads me to you.

I reach out; I kneel down

and place black roses

on the ground right next

to your plaque. I usually cry,

but this time I laughed.

I know death isn’t funny,

but when I felt a slight

breeze kiss my rosy cheeks,

the soft wind whispered

a joke in my ear. I knew

it was you telling me to

cheer up and remember

the good times we had.

You were telling me

not to be sad. I stop kneeling,

and begin healing. I look up

and see your spirit

reach for my hand.

As I go to grab it,

I stare into your ghostly

eyes. I try to talk, but I can’t

move my lips. You tell me

to listen. I stood mesmerized,

as your phantasmic skin

glistens. Stuck in a trance,

I hear your angelic voice ask,

“May I have this dance?”