"Singing to the Dead” by Frank X. Gaspar
Once we saw the moon casting
its cold rainbow in the blowing spray,
and then we knew about the dead walking,
how they can be coaxed to rise
in such light and glow like pearl,
though they are not concerned with us--
how could they be?
We huddle in the warm coffins
of our bodies and hug the rock
that breaks the sea, the rock
in which they sleep, but they
are bound by nothing, can float
under the moon, can whisper secrets
through the damp breast of stone.
They can tell us what we need to know
and so we sing what we remember:
Come up, we sing,
Come out of the rock.