Williamstown Cemetery

June is grief:
the haunt of deathly winter
when the thug Sun

no longer swipes at imperial night,

and cursed by this ebony
it is a long prison
amongst the inscribed granites.

Old forevers, near the solstice
are anxious
for spring just one more time

and to recall morsel days
of their youthful love.

But the tilted stones
cracked by chill and frost and forgetfulness
slowly crumble, season through season,

into the non-judgemental clutch of earth.