Felicity That Leaves No Sigh

The memory pitches
Into a rolling sea,
And what’s left of the graves

Slide down in a jumble
Of minerals and bones.
They breathed some ideas once,

From others who breathed them,
From others who breathed them,
And now you may breathe them

Yourself—the skull that wants
To be an alchemist,
To see what others missed,

The old cemetery
Precariously perched
On the undercut cliff.