I Walk in the Neighborhood

through gates of moonbeam and shadow
trampling unseen graveyards.

Is that the wailing of ghosts
I almost hear,
the bonedry cries of
vanquished nations
at the edge of
everything unholy?

I can’t see through moondim reverie
into yesterday’s unholiness,
but somehow I know
I’m not alone in the shadow
of this almost silent boneyard village.