calling a name to the dark and
letting a voice, unknown, respond
that is so vulnerable and hence mortifying;

etched deep into the stone of
here & this grave, it has a pronounced curve
the shape of your neck, the roots of the dead

plants creeping around its base
like a crawling and strangling hold, perhaps
it could be a cage, and the grass reaches up high

to meet it— they touch halfway.
They met each other in the early morning
of some humid day and they curled around each other,

already dead.