I know a grave in the woods
tricked with running cedar, mulched
with hickory and storms, telling heaven
to dance cobble-rock and quail-feather,
tuning up the sprouts, and all the thaws,
so they smooth and wriggle, and they smooth
and bank up every skeleton against a ghost,
so they all sing, so they all remember names
that touch like the tallest willow’s shadow
cribbing across the face of an old woman
waiting to find me here at home and alive.
Clyde Kessler lives in Radford, Virginia with his wife Kendall and their son Alan. This year, poems have been published in Mad Swirl, Book of Matches, Spinoza Blue, and Literary Nest.