What Be Mourning

A Poem by Patricia Ponce

What Be Mourning

What airs...mourning's proper etiquette?
Does he clock in nine to five,
or somersaults twenty-four seven?
Rebelliously alive!

Be he hindsight's bard
binding unreconciled solstices, infinitely closer
misting mythology into rain
leaving echo hand prints as two-way mirror

Lay he ravenous upon one's bosom,
hides perhaps in a lady's virgin composure
or runs amok wide-eyed with fatherless freedom
mere impressionistic eyes a composer?

Simple truth 'wakens no more puzzlement
'Tis death heirs mourning's proper etiquette