In a Garden of Stone

The dead, they’re here
In two senses,
The too-present

And too-silent.
The latter ones
Were tied to flesh

That made them talk.
That flesh now dead,
There’s no more talk.

The former, oh,
Heaven and hell,
They’re everywhere—

In memories
(Noisy, talking)
In dreams (lurid

And emotive),
In old photos,
Moving pictures,

And, above all,
In their words (words,
Words, words, words, words).