26 years old
1839
Not to appear a lone haunter
of boneyards
On a late Spring day
I wanted a solitude
and a lawn where I could
discretely remove my shirt
In America
it's customary
to wave the flag
from Memorial day
'til the 6th day of July
Normally I whistle past this place
The guardian balloons closed in on me
It was like a sixties
secret agent TV show
from the UK
The balloons seemed to exude
a viscous membrane
I pushed my way inside
I heard a feint chuckle
then what sounded like
an old old woman weeping
Up a flight of stairs
I heard a consort of viols
playing incredibly
melancholy amorphous
baroque music
I pushed my way out again
As I emerged
a table with tablecloth
came rolling toward me
An earthly enigma
like a magic trick
table-knocking
apparition wearing a shroud
A séance in broad daylight
It was with relief
I escaped the precincts
of the Chapel of the chimes
I found myself in a deep
rhododendron grove
A rousing fountain
in front of a faux façade
Not to sound all
Blair Witch Trail
But it was only later
in image capture repose
that I saw the bicyclist
1874- age 68
Not to sound morbid
but it's a location
to which we all are bound
Another enigma
26 was the age I was
when I first moved
to the area
This is an odd expanse
of Mountain View
only two or three headstones
on an otherwise vacant slope
Very early interments
from the imaginary
nineteenth century
Eventually
my complete peace
was shared by a young family
remote and inaudible
June 2017
,
