Dance on The Graves of The Dead

Dance on the graves of the dead,
mock their mossy tufts
with the loftiness
of love and lust and life,
for they once danced like this.

Fear not to be cast out into the migrant night,
tuned in to undiscovered static and
sleepless,
for the night shall sleep in you,
a Bedouin ghost beneath your meat.

Touch the things you can’t afford,
strip the rich of their salty rags
and prepare them in a saccharine glaze.

Dance with the living underneath linen sheets

and one of these days
dry bones will rise from old graves,

one of these days
the dead will dance for you.