Siamanto’s Grief

Grief is a homeless dog slavering over a meatless bone.

Grief invades the darkness of ditches where the homeless huddle.

Grief is April rain spitting on skinned corpses, spring of somnolent ashes.

Grief is a sky of falling stars smashing church steeples.

Spits on justice
after the piling of bones in seizures of autumn.

Your grief was ecstasy in blazes of poetry lighting up a lowering sky.

— Keith Garebian, Poetry is Blood