Maybe
if I turn
my back
you can
see
for yourself
the
******
constellations
you drew
with your
knife.

Don’t come to the cemetery at night Peter Xalxo would say
If you are so inclined make your visits in the day
For often in the evening when exam worries were gone
I would go to the cemetery and sit on some tombstone.

I think boy the ones from the other world make visits at nights
And they would not love to find living souls upon their sights
Why intrude their peaceful home and not leave them there alone
When the time after the sunset they think to exclusively own!

Having said this with a grave face he would lower his voice still low
While on nightly posts at the graves I’ve seen in the dark some glow
And at moonlit nights on duty’s round heard footsteps around me
I would advise boy not to step into at night at the cemetery.

He used to tell more such tales to instill in the boy some fear
But come the next evening and at the cemetery I would reappear
For I loved the moon bathed solitude the trees’ darkened shed
The tranquility of the place in quiet company of the dead!

All said I wouldn’t leave out in this account one truthful fact
Uncle Peter’s stories had some effect some impact
They colored my times at the cemetery spent at nights alone
I seemed to feel they were moving the graves’ marble stone.

Then one night as I was coming out around nine o’clock
To my horror found the gate closed with an iron lock
Bewildered I stood there knowing no other ways to go
When there appeared a shadow heard the voice of Peter Xalxo.

I told you boy not to loiter here not disturb their peace of night
This ground here the dead walks now though beyond your sight
Run home and never come back his voice in whisper talked
Some more words he mumbled before got the gate unlocked.

That night at the dinner table my father told mom this
He was such a good man and a great friend to miss
But God only decides in his garden which flower to pluck
Peter Xalxo died this evening suffered a heart attack.

we always met in between lovers*

we were 16 and broken hearted
he hurt me and she left you
and somewhere in the pain
we found each other for a moment
we were always a moment
never to be more
but for that moment
we didn't want more

few years later and we found ourselves
someone else
and silence prevailed over our bond
and that was okay;
i never told him about you
you never told her about me
we didn't need to
we were a moment
a moment gone
a moment preserved
and those years, they passed
i lost track
of where you were or who you became

until
we met in between lovers

she couldn't be with you anymore
i couldn't be with him anymore
we came back with new stories
new heartbreaks to share
we came back with memories
that we couldn't bare
to lose
we came back with the need
to not be alone for a while
someone to hear the
silence of our words
and so we spoke
and we spoke
and found comfort that we would never be
we could never be
and that was what made it
so easy
and we spoke
about loss and love
and so i spoke
about how i missed his touch
and so you spoke
about the smell of her hair
and so i spoke
about the color of his eyes
and so we laughed
about that day when this happened
and so we cried
about that day when that happened
and we spoke.
and we spoke.
and we spoke.

we always met in between lovers
we would never be lovers
we didn't need to be.

few years down the line
i wonder if i'll see you again
and it's bittersweet
because meeting you
means i have lost another
and i wonder
why do we always meet
not as friends
but
brokenhearted
between lovers?

here stood a pine tree
with broken parts,
abruptly removed
for the safety of all.
no time to say goodbye,
leaving only a headstone
of perfumed white stump
heaped with flowers of wood dust
and neighbors waving their branches
in funereal hymns of wind.
it loved to chat
with the other trees
and was a friend
to the neighborhood
it is missed
by the squirrels and the birds
and me.
rest in peace.

flowing words that ripples through,
painted pain in the waters
waiting to be
understood.