introversion

while the graveyard is quiet

i rise to greet the night

jaw loose and swinging

knuckles catching grass between digits

i scrape my way across the

tombstone plots

and crawl up to a stone

whose words have been lost.

i think i knew them, once.

my bones ache like they want

to sink six feet down.

but i don't know their name

and i don't know their sound.

they breathe below the earth and

i lay there to share the quiet

until the sky starts to turn pink.

then i say goodbye to the stone,

and the bones buried beneath.

i'll scrape my way reluctantly

across tombstone plots

back to the place from whence i came

jaw loose and swinging

wearing more dirt on my legs.

i'll crawl back into my grave

and wait for the graveyard

to turn quiet again.

for the nights are sacred

and companions, sometimes,

have no need for a name.