Katherine Garon

Remnants of last autumn’s leaves crackled
like old bones beneath your feet,
as you led us wandering down disused paths.
Strolling past sunset, past nightfall,
past ancient flickering streetlights,
casting phantoms beneath our feet.

You directed our march past the headstones
weaving around overgrown plots.
From between the folds of its funeral shroud
the half-moon smiled down on us,
wrapped tight in our dark coats and scarves,
a caricature of a funeral procession.

Suddenly you stopped.
Wickedly delighted,
we scattered; crows
flying among rows of worn stones
until, chests heaving, we collapsed
at the base of a tree.

Laying in the damp grass,
lingering with the ghosts of our laughter,
until daylight graced the sky,
consigning our happiness
to epitaphs