Propaganda for the Dead

Our dead are enlightened-
enlivening-
they are not lost.
Their songs reverberate through arteries
and carry over wind,
recorded by eyes, leaves, and stars,
played back on an endless loop
with moons
and tides
and falling acorns in graveyards
on wispy autumn afternoons.
Flora and fauna unwittingly hum the cadences of the dead,
quickening us in tune to their organic harmonies
and syncopated refrains,
planting endless rows of memories in our minds,
notes on lines,
parallel with their bodies, queued up underĀ ground,
and with their markers, reminding us of key and time.
We sing with their signatures,
filling in our own notes where theirs are too muted to hear.
Our songs are alive,
enlivening;
and so our dead are not lost.

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“I love your lipstick.”

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