[32] Go to the Graveyard, but Whisper, John Thomas Allen

                            (for N.T.)

If with your living hand
a flush melody all aces
you would wash the moss
from my stone l should blush,
blinking. My face has color now,
they whisper. Look. Sit with me
this one time, eyes lit with floral
runes. I have a suit and money,
quarters like moons over my eyes.
Can I have all of you for a moment?
Come closer. Look. Hear the dead
choir, ill, wailing; pick the ivy orbs,
leave a holly trail. Fear nothing.
My face has color now.

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