Sweeping the Grave

Tears dried On the soles of hardened boots Flying in the dust Of this earthly noise Spirits being called Among hills of unspeakable past The good son or the unfulfilled father Can offer nothing now But a handful of dirt So sorrow can fall back To the roots of rocks on riverbed There is always a voice behind this voice A life after this life Where a hawk climbs up To the broken clouds Another dark tear will drop From the moon Among trees the wind is listening ---LTG 2004