Sweeping the Cemetery
By David Lee Garrison
I swept young lovers back
into their dormitories
by midnight after Saturday
dances. Tall trees
and overgrown shrubberies
made the hill darker than dark
where their whispers floated
on humidity, perfume, and sweat.
My footsteps were the threat
that raised them from the dead,
roused those apparitions
mixing lust and dread
among the headstones.
One night I caught a couple
on a marble bed, told them
in my sternest voice
to get on home.
When they were gone,
I lay down in their place
and watched the stars die
deep in space.
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